


Slowly But Surely

by im95notdead



Series: Avengers University [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, Deaf Clint Barton, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, It's fluffy tho, M/M, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony and Clint are fantastic friends, mention of suicide, mild alcoholism, physically and verbally abusive Howard, undertones of SamBucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im95notdead/pseuds/im95notdead
Summary: With many road bumps along the way, Tony learns the value of being unapologetically who he is and finding people who love  and encourage him for it all the more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlanketOfDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlanketOfDeath/gifts).



> This was written and then rewritten for a good friend of mine.  
> Also, it was partially inspired by the song "One of Us" by New Politics
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

Clint couldn’t look away. The guy wasn’t swaying—so he knew he wasn't drunk—but standing dangerously close to the edge of the platform, staring down at the tracks. He kicked one foot off and then took a shaky step back. Clint finally took a breath, his gaze locked on him. He turned and looked at Clint, dark purple circles under his eyes and Clint almost gasped at how young he was. A college student, definitely. Clint himself was only twenty-one.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the boy said, his voice higher than Clint expected but firm.

Clint maintained his gaze and the boy started coming towards him.

"Look, pal, if you've got something-"

"I didn't mean to stare," Clint said calmly. "You just looked like you were going to jump." That stopped him in his tracks. He chewed the inside of his cheek and scoffed, glancing once out at the tracks as a train rolled in.

The doors opened but neither of them moved. When the alarm sounded letting them know the doors would soon shut and the train would depart, the young man bolted for the train. "Maybe I was," he said with a shrug as the doors closed and the train sped away.

Clint took a useless step forward. What could he do? He couldn't chase the train down. There was no guarantee he’d ever see the man again. What if he killed himself tonight? Clint would never know.

But he needed to know.

 

When he got home he told Natasha about the whole thing and she told him the same things he'd told himself: what could he possibly do? As luck would have it, Clint saw the guy walking around his campus the very next day.

He was wearing a hoodie, head down, and sunglasses but Clint recognized the clothes. The same ones from the night before.

He wasn't sure how to proceed. Should he run after him? Follow him secretly?

 

Later that night, after a full day of following him - Tony, he’d found out - he walked into a bar and sat down, only to glance over and see none other than Tony who he’d lost about twenty minutes ago. He wandered over to the bar and sat down beside him.

“Ten bucks says if anyone knew your real age, a lot of people here would be in some big trouble,” Clint whispered. Tony turned his head slightly, a sneer on his face and still wearing sunglasses.

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Why? Cause I’m wrong?”

He knocked back the rest of his scotch and replied, “Because I’ve got a ten in my pocket.”

Clint chuckled but Tony did not. In fact, he swiveled his chair around so that he was facing away from Clint, waving for the bartender to send another drink his way. Clint hunched his shoulders and tried again, determined to get this kid to open up. Tony took another huge gulp of the burning liquid and ducked his head.

“My brother Barney did some terrible shit in his life. Messed up real bad a few times. When it finally hit him, he got real low. Would call me sometimes with some disturbing thoughts. Was in hospital for an attempted overdose.”

“Sounds like his life sucks ass,” Tony said coldly, still facing away from Clint.

“You’re not wrong. But here’s the thing. I’m just trying to figure out why a young dude like you is trying to end his life? I mean, is it a penance thing? Atone for past sins? Or a cry for attention, a lot of people-“

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“So then it was genuine.” Tony’s look of surprised was clear even with the shades and hoodie. He quickly reverted back to his mask of indifference and disdain but Clint knew he was heading in the right direction.

It wasn’t one of those ‘if I can’t help my brother I will help this boy’ it was much more simple than that: I will help him. Clint didn’t think himself to be the savior of those down-trodden and alone, but if he had the power to make a difference and didn’t and then something bad happened, that was his fault, wasn’t it? And if he could do at least a little good then he’d sleep better at night knowing he had.

He decided on a subject change for the moment. “I’m Clint.”

“That’s the answer to a question I never asked.” Tony was still taking the hostile route and Clint didn’t totally blame him besides, he wasn’t the first prickly person Clint had ever dealt with.

“What’s with the sunglasses? We’re in a bar. It’s dark,” he said for emphasis. Tony chuckled and snatched them off, turning to give Clint a hateful glare. Clint let out a low whistle. “Quite the shiner. Where’d you get that?”

“Oh, it was this cute little place right off the corner of mind your own goddamn business.”

“I’ve gotta say, the meanness masks your age well.”

“Did you really have to say it?” Tony mumbled into his newly filled glass, taking another sip and Clint watched it go down without Tony so much as blinking funny. Tony turned to look at Clint, gave him an up and down assessment and then looked around the bar. “Listen, don’t you have friends to bother? I”m a little busy.”

“Doing what? Drinking your problems away? Sounds like a solid plan.” Tony fumed silently over how much he hated this complete stranger who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“If I wanted someone to pick my brain, I would pay for a therapist. Since I don’t, I definitely don’t need some raggedy-looking, broke college student doing the job.”

“Well if last night is anything to go on, I’d say you might.” Clint sipped the beer he’d ordered while Tony was insulting him. Tony slammed his hands down on the bar.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about my life, alright? So quit following me and stop pretending like just because your brother went through some shit makes you a fucking expert on everyone.” He pushed away from the bar and began walking off.

“My brother’s dead.” Tony skidded to a stop, his fists clenching and unclenching. He did not want to turn around but even he wasn’t that much of a douchebag. He spun around slowly and made his way back to where Clint was sitting. He put one hand on the chair he had occupied and removed his sunglasses, looking up at Clint with a softer but still bitter expression.

“You said he was in the hospital.”

“I did. And he was. He overdosed again a few days after his release and didn’t make it.” Clint maintained eye contact with Tony when he spoke next. “You’re right. I don’t know you or anything about your life or your problems. You don’t know me either but, yeah, I followed you around campus today and I didn’t see any friends so regardless of whether or not you still want to jump in front of a train, I can’t in good conscience let you continue on friendless. That sucks ass too.” Tony ducked his head, ashamed of himself now for the comment he’d made about this guy’s brother. “So how about we try this again. Hi, I’m Clint and I also go to this school. We should be friends.”

Tony snorted, looking away in mild disbelief. “I’m Tony.” They shook hands.

“So, how old are you?”

“Slower,” Tony said, putting the shades back on. “We’re gonna take this friend thing slower. Catch you around, Clint.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's working on it.

Days would go by before Clint would run into Tony again. Sometimes it felt intentional; like the times they did manage to see each other were just because Tony couldn’t be bothered to put in the effort required to avoid him.

It was almost three weeks of these hit and miss meetups that Clint finally got Tony to sit down with him somewhere again for a real conversation, not just the usual ‘how’re things going?’

 

It was a Thursday night. Clint was waiting for Tony in a McDonalds not far from campus. He’d bumped into him earlier after his morning lecture and fought his way to a short dinner, Tony unable to think of a valid excuse. Those were his actual words.

Clint sat at a table with just a soda for the time being and watched out the window for Tony. It was almost twenty minutes passed the arranged time when he finally saw him come in. He looked tired and hungry and Clint knew McDonalds was not at the top of the healthy cuisine list but anything else felt like a date and he didn’t want Tony getting the wrong idea.

“Hey,” he said when Tony almost walked right passed him. He stopped, rubbing his tired eyes and sat down across from him.

“You already eat?”

“Just got a drink so they wouldn’t throw me out.”

Tony jerked his head towards the registers. “Mind if I…?”

“Go ahead. I’ll save the seats.”

Clint wasn’t yet sure what he wanted to say. He knew friendships couldn’t be forced but this honestly felt like it needed a little nudge in the right direction or it would soon die. Tony did a good job of keeping things surface level.

When they both had their food, they ate in somewhat awkward silence until Tony spoke.

“Why did you want to meet me? And here of all places.”

“Can’t friends grab a bite to eat every now and then?” Tony sighed, heading towards annoyed already.

“Why the hell are you so bent on us being friends? I mean, I know that crap you gave me about me not having any but people don’t do unselfish things like that outside of the movies. What do you want?” Tony was skepticism personified. There wasn’t a word or action that Clint could say or make that Tony didn’t narrow his eyes at and read into far too much.

“I’ve got no ulterior motive. I just wanna be your friend, Tony.” When Tony didn’t respond, Clint tried for a different approach. “Want me to put it bluntly?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Whether we want to talk about it or not, we both know the situation surrounding how we met.”

“Right.”

“And we both know that you have no one on campus at least to talk about it with.”

“Also right.”

“I’m not looking for a sob story to turn me into some kind of saint or fixer-of-problems. I don’t get off on other people’s misery. What initially made me search you out was, yeah, the problem but what made me continue was you, dude.”

“This all sounds a little gay, good use of that very heterosexual ‘dude’ though.” Clint blatantly ignored him and carried on.

“I see a really good person in you, Tony. Someone I’d like to get to know better platonically. That’s why I’m so bent on us being friends because I think the turnout would be awesome.” Tony was looking down at the seat beside him where his bag was, fiddling with something Clint assumed was his phone. No matter, he knew Tony had been listening just by watching his facial features.

“Alright fine. But let’s start fresh-fresh. No more talk about the subway incident.” Clint nodded and Tony stood, gathering his things. “I have to go but, uh…” He slid a piece of paper to Clint who opened it and read Tony’s number.

“And he said I was being gay,” Clint muttered, smiling down at the paper.

 

*   *  *

 

Clint shot up out of bed when his phone vibrated where he had it under his pillow. He usually set it to Do Not Disturb for parts of the night so this exact thing wouldn’t happen. Natasha grumbled something about answering it or sleeping on the couch for a week and he groggily put in one hearing aid and picked it up without checking the called ID.

“‘Lo?” he managed, yawning. On the other end of the line he could hear soft sobbing and hiccups.

“‘M fucked, Barton,” came Tony’s voice. Every syllable was slurred. Clint sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake. He slipped in the second hearing aid.

“Tony?”

“Ha-ha, yup.”

“Hey, buddy, what’s going on?”

“‘M fucked, Barton, thass all.”

“Why, what happened?” he asked, moving into the hallway so he didn’t disturb Nat.

“Hate—” hiccup “—everything.” He laughed for a few moments and then there came one muffled sob. “Life sucks n’ then you die, right? When’s the—when’s the die part hap-happen?” More strangled laughter.

“Tony, where are you? I can be there in—”

“‘M not gonna hurt me… not gonna, ah, jump.” He popped the ‘p’ and it made the hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stand up.

“Then what are you going to do because you’re scaring me here, Tony.” Clint was using the most soothing voice he could manage. He didn’t want to risk spooking him and him hanging up.

“To talk. Jus’ miss him so much, ya know? Rhodey’s the fuckin’ best, my best frien’ an’ Howard sent him away. Away to the army. Ain’t that shitty?” Clint agreed and then let Tony ‘talk’ like he wanted without interruption.

 

There were gaps in the conversation that spanned anywhere between ten and twenty minutes where Tony was mostly sputtering nonsense or sobbing and Clint would add his two bits, and then there were parts like this:

“Howard’s my father an’ he sucks asses. Whoops, ass. Always… gettin’ drunk an’ then he hits. Mom don’ do shit either.” He sighed loudly and had a small coughing fit before starting up again. “An’ school? School ain’t fuckin’ hard ‘nuff to distract me. S’all easy peasy. ‘M not even twenny. Not twenny yet an’ I jus’…” he was silent for a long time, no sounds except for the occasional sniffle. Clint counted at least two minutes of silence, which, for a phone call, was a long time.

Clint wasn’t sure how to react to any of this. Two days ago Tony was borderline furious that Clint wanted to be friends and now—granted drunk off his ass—he was calling Clint in the middle of the night and telling him everything.

“Not even twenty” were the words that continued to repeat in his mind. Tony wasn’t even fucking twenty. How the hell old wa—

“I just want it all to be over, Clint.” The sentence rang out clear as day, not a single letter dropped or dragged and it was the first time Tony had used his actual name during this conversation. The sudden lucidity of the statement made Clint feel sick. 

It scared Clint more than anything.

“I got-gotta sleep. Class t’morruh, early I think. Doezn’ fuckin’ matter anyway. Night, Barton, thanks for lettin’ me talk.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime, Tony. And be careful.” Tony laughed.

“Mmhmm, okay.”

 

*   * *

 

The next day Clint didn't see Tony until that evening on campus leaving a 5pm lecture. He looked the same. Almost as if his 3am meltdown had never happened. He approached Tony cautiously.

"Hey, slugger."

"Isn't that something fathers call their sons?" He quipped back immediately, stuffing a notebook into his bag and pulling out a bagel.

"Yeah, maybe. So, how are you?"

Tony eyed him suspiciously. "I thought we were done talking about that. Starting fresh, you know?"

Clint rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Well. Yeah. We were but do you remember calling me last night?"

"I didn't call you, Barton. What've you been drinking?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Check your recents." Tony gave him a disbelieving look but reluctantly checked his phone anyway, his hand freezing when the call popped up. He stared in silence and Clint waited patiently beside him.

“Holy—I don't remem— _two hours?_! We talked for two—what did I—oh god." He looked up at Clint again, eyes worried. "What did I tell you?"

"A lot, man. Some really heavy stuff."

"Fuck, okay, I'm sorry. Look we don't have to be friends, it's okay if—"

"I didn't track you down to break up with you. Friend break up. You know what I mean." He dragged a hand down his face. "I wanted to find you to make sure you were all right and let you know that—again, we don't know each other that well—but if you do want someone to tell this stuff to, you don't have to call me in the middle of the night shit-faced to do it."

Tony looked intentionally at the ground and nowhere else. He didn't know what to say. With his best friend gone, he hadn't had anyone be this nice to him in months. He had no friends on campus; his home life was godawful, he always left with scrapes and bruises.

"I don't understand why you want to bother with me. No one else does, shouldn't that be some kind of indication to you that I'm not worth the time?"

"The fact that you think that is reason enough, Tony." Clint smirked. "Besides, you're kind of funny when you're not insulting me and probably even nice sometimes." Clint chuckled when Tony rolled his eyes. "Come on." He put his arm around Tony's shoulders but he pulled away.

"What? Where are we going?"

"To my place. We're having lasagna. Come eat, chill, do the whole friend thing. Maybe even crash. Tomorrow is Saturday after all."

  
  


Clint led Tony to a small apartment a little ways from campus. It was on the second floor of a brick building and when Clint unlocked the door, the smell of lasagna hit them like a tsunami and Tony's stomach growled instantly, despite the bagel he'd eaten thirty minutes ago.

"That smells amazing," he said before he could stop himself. Then he turned to Clint, a worried look in his eyes despite his best efforts to mask it. "Are - are you sure your roommate won't mind?"

"Roommate doesn't mind one bit," came a smooth female voice from the kitchen. A girl stepped out about the same age as Clint with fiery red hair and bright green eyes. She gave a small smile and came over to plant a kiss on Clint's cheek. "I'm Natasha," she said, extending a hand to Tony who tentatively shook it.

"Tony."

"It's nice to meet you. Staying for dinner?"

"I- if that's really not a, uh, problem."

"None at all. Come on, you probably know how to set a table better than that lump," she said, jerking an accusatory thumb in Clint’s direction where he was now lying facedown on the couch.

 

In the kitchen Tony took the plates and cutlery and made his way to the table, setting them carefully just as he had seen the table set for three every morning and night even though it was just himself sat there eating.

When he finished he stood there awkwardly like he wasn't sure what to do now. Clint patted the place on the couch beside him, having sat up. Tony slowly made his way over, glancing about himself every couple of milliseconds as though he might be struck or have the floor pulled out from beneath him.

"You're awfully jumpy today, something up? Is it because of the phone call? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, though."

"It's, um." Tony swallowed. What should he say? He's not used to having friends? Or eating dinner with other humans beside his butler and might-as-well-be-father? That he was worried about how much Clint knew because Tony had one too many problems to count?

None of that, I repeat, none, was normal or anywhere within the realms of alright and Tony knew he needed to say something because it had been a few seconds since Clint's comment had been made.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's-"

"Dinner's served," Natasha interrupted, setting the piping hot pasta dish onto the table and Tony sighed in relief.

"Thank you again. Both of you."

"Don't think I've ever heard you string together this many words before and it come out positive, Tony."

"First time for everything," he said with a small smile.

"So Tony, what do you do?" Tony didn't look up but did acknowledge the question. He wasn't sure if she was just trying to get out the info Barton couldn't or was genuinely interested. She was nearly impossible to read.

"I work at Carelli's helping to fix cars."

"You're a mechanic?" Clint asked, way too much food in his mouth for anyone's liking.

"It's just a--yeah, I am."

"I'm a ballet instructor," Natasha said, giving information for gotten information. She nudged Clint under the table.

"I help out at the animal shelter nearby." Tony nodded like this information was very relevant to his life and remained quiet.

"Is it okay?" Natasha asked.

"It's delicious. It's perfect." He felt like he had said too much but risked a glance to see her smile at Clint and him lean in to kiss her cheek. Tony smiled and continued eating.

 

Tony stood at the door, leaning against the frame. He didn't want to go back to his lonely home. He didn't want to leave at all no matter to where it would be. He wanted to stay here in the warmth that was Natasha and Clint’s home. It was inviting, warm, non-judgmental and, most importantly, safe. Natasha scared him a little bit - but to be honest she could scare anyone - and Clint was a walking, talking golden retriever. One of the nicest and goofiest humans Tony had ever met and he wanted nothing more than to stay here with them forever but clingy was not something he'd ever allow himself to be. At least not with anyone but Rhodey.

"Oh god, hey it's almost one," Clint said, giving Natasha a questioning look to which she nodded and left to their shared room. "Stay the night. You can take care of yourself and blah blah blah I know but what kind of host would that make me?" Clint said, his hands on Tony's shoulders as he lead him back into the apartment and shut the door. He grinned behind Tony's head at the utter lack of protest being made and  showed him to the guest room.

"Viola. So there's towels in there and I can bring you a t-shirt if you want?"

"I'm not a child, Barton."

"I still don't know how old you are, Tony."

"Old enough."

"What's that supposed to mean."

"It means," he began exasperatedly but stopped himself because there was no point in getting annoyed now. "Thanks. Thanks for feeding me and letting me stay the night."

"Nowhere near a good segue. I'll find out sooner or later." He stood there for a second longer before sighing and wishing him a goodnight. Tony replied likewise and Clint shut the door behind him.

Tony collapsed onto the soft bed. He was sure his bed was much more expensive—his sheets at home probably cost more than the bed he was laying on—so why did this bed feel a thousand times nicer?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet the whole squad.

Tony woke disoriented and mad—not unusual for him. He sat up and blinked a few times until his vision focused and his memories came rushing back.

He was at Clint's apartment.

Clint and Natasha's.

He spent the night.

He threw off the covers and looked down, remembering he had borrowed a t-shirt and shorts from Clint and both were slightly too big. The shirt was too long and the sleeves had at least an inch of space around Tony's arms. For the shorts he had to pull the drawstring as tight as possible to keep them from falling. Clint was surprisingly muscular.

Tony padded over to the door and opened it apprehensively. There was no sound on the other side. He stuck his head out and saw no one, so he dashed for the bathroom.

He splashed his face with water a few times, slapping his cheeks. What was he doing getting attached to these people? The last time he had someone—a friend—to distract him from his studies and subsequent working at his father’s company, Howard had conveniently talked to a friend who had the power to assign troops early which meant bye-bye Rhodey. Tony wasn't sure what Howard would find to do to Clint and Natasha but he wouldn't put it past him to find something.

He stepped out of the bathroom to a bleary-eyed Clint with bed head, no shirt and one polka-dotted sock on.

"You always this beautiful in the morning?"

"Oh this? Nah, this is just for you, Tones."

"Don't call me that."

"Wha—I. Too early." He raised his hands in surrender.

Tony didn't clarify and Clint didn't ask. Natasha eventually surfaced looking photo shoot ready for one of those 'all natural' campaigns in one of Clint's extra long shirts and black and red fluffy house shoes that Tony knew were not supposed to be commented on so he didn't.

"What're you doing today, Tony?"

"Uh." The question caught him off guard. He had no idea. He supposed he’d go home and find something to tinker with? Unsurprisingly, that answer did not sit well with either of the other people in the room.

"No way, man, you're chilling with us today."

"Agreed," Natasha said, sipping her green tea slowly. "And," she added, setting the cup down, "we're gonna call up a few friends and do something."

"Yeah," Clint said, grabbing his phone and handing it to Nat because they would know a message from her from one he sent and would reply to hers sooner.

 

An hour later and Tony found himself in another borrowed shirt from Clint but his own jeans. It was just a plain white shirt with a purple target on the front. Natasha had commented that it was one of Clint’s favorites and she couldn’t believe he’d let Tony borrow it.  

Now they were stood in a park waiting to meet up with some other friends and apparently this was their usual rendezvous point. Tony couldn’t help but tug on the end of the shirt nervously. He wasn’t historically very good with people. It had been by some annoying miracle that Clint was still in his life.

Clint waved to someone in the distance that Tony couldn't even see yet and then slowly they came into focus. Three tall, burly men—two dark-haired and one blond. The two dark-haired men were bickering and the blond was doing all he could to ignore them.

“They been like this all morning?” Natasha asked, hugging the blond man and kissing his cheek. The two continued bickering behind him for the time being and the blond rolled his eyes and sighed.

"If I keep looking forward, it's almost like they don't exist." The blond's eyes fell to Tony after he greeted Clint. He was what Tony would call 'beefy' with baby blue eyes you could easily get lost in and a smile so sincere he assumed it must just be well practiced. "I'm Steve." He extended a hand that Tony happily took.

"Tony."

"Nice to meet you, Tony. Behind me are Sam and James," he said, gesturing to the men in turn.

"Fuck you, Barnes," Sam said as an end to their argument. James laughed and left Sam him in favor of meeting Tony and then talking to Clint.

"How do you know Nat and Clint?" Sam asked. Tony liked Sam. He had a very straightforward approach about him, much like Clint and Natasha. James was hard to get a read on beyond 'scary' and Steve was still too nice.

"I met Clint on campus."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Clint answered, saving Tony from an awkward cover up for how they met when Tony was trying to decide if he wanted to jump in front of a train or not.

"Alright, the more the merrier anyway. Gives me someone else besides Jimmy to talk to."

"Call me that one more time, Wilson, and I will end you," James said, punching a fist into the open palm of his other hand and he didn't totally look like he was joking.

"Interesting choice of friends you have," Tony said quietly to Clint with a smirk.

"Yeah, and you're one of those choices so watch what you say." Tony huffed petulantly, crossing his arms. "So it's good to see you all and stuff but what're we doing?"

"Bar," James and Natasha said at the same time.

"Guys... it's like 11am,” Sam said in disbelief.

"Your point being?"

"Okay, we're not hitting a bar because A it's too damn early, you drunks, and B," Clint jerked his head in Tony's direction and Tony glared.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're underage, Tony."

"I can hold my liquor just as well as any one of you and you know it," he spat angrily.

"That's not what I said though was it?"

"How old—"

"We'll find something else to do," Natasha cut in.

It took a good fifteen minutes but finally everyone decided they were all hungry and an even shorter discussion led them to a local diner serving everything from breakfast to dessert. When they started heading for the diner, Tony punched Clint in the arm.

"That was a dick move, Barton."

"Tony, you're not even twenty."

"So? I've got a fake ID, 18 is the legal age literally everywhere else and I am not your child. I'm only recently your friend."

"Tony, I don't give a rat’s ass about you being underage but you don't need to be drinking the hard stuff you do, dude. Look I know we promised not to talk about it but—"

"I get it. Stop. I don't wanna bring that up."

"Sorry, man, but I'm trying to be a good friend here and allowing you to drive yourself into early liver failure isn't how to do it."

"Ok," he said curtly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking beside him in silence. Clint took a deep breath and exhaled silently. Tony was going to be a hard case.

 

At the diner they got a large booth and sat three aside. Clint, Nat and Tony on one side and Sam, Steve and James on the other, James making an obvious display of putting Steve between them. Steve rolled his eyes and slid in.

"It was a game of Mario kart, you two need to relax," Steve said exasperatedly.

Clint chuckled and Tony couldn't believe this kind of hostility came from a bad wii experience. James scoffed and Sam dismissed Steve with a wave of his hand.

"Are they always like this?" Tony asked Natasha. She shrugged.

"No, sometimes they fight." Tony couldn't help his smile. He really liked Natasha.

"So, Tony," Steve began, cutting into his pancakes and boy could Steve really put it away. Where it went Tony had no idea but one look at James' plate and he was suddenly sure they must have been sneaking it into their pockets or something. They had ordered the endless stacks and Steve was somewhere on his sixth pancake and James was working on number four. "You're the new guy so, where you from?"

"Manhattan." Clint didn't even know that. He felt a little ashamed but then again he knew more important things about Tony.

The others shared the same information: the Brooklyn boys Steve and James, Harlem for Sam, Little Ukraine in Manhattan for Natasha, and Iowa much to Clint's own chagrin.

"Aw, Clint, you might as well be a New Yorker," James said sincerely.

"Are you guys together?" Tony asked, looking at the three men across from him.

Steve nearly choked on his food. "Who? The three of us?" Tony nodded. "We can barely survive as roommates, don't think we could ever throw romance into the mix."

James pointed his fork in Sam's direction, cheeks full of food as he spoke. "Sam is definitely a bottom though."

"Man, shut up."

"What about you, Tony? Got a special someone?" Steve asked. He wanted to say 'if I did would I be here with you strangers?' but he was slowly learning to be nice so instead he shook his head.

"Who are you interested in?” James asked.

Tony knew exactly what the question meant but was so terrified of answering it. This could be the thing to finally get Clint to disown him. The one thing he hadn't said on the phone that night.

Steve saw the distress on his face and said, "Buck and I are bi.” Tony looked around until he realized Steve was gesturing at James when he said ‘Buck’.

"So am I," Natasha said.

"Pretty sure I'm a boring straight dude, sorry." Clint said and Tony chuckled at the fact that he _apologized_ for being straight. "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate Steve's ass though." Sam slapped him a high five.

"Gay," Sam said and he pointed at Steve. "And I second that.” Steve slapped him upside the back of his head but Natasha just nodded in agreement making Steve blush a dark shade of red.

"Tony?" Clint asked.

He hesitated. He’d never said the words out loud before. "I'm… I’m, uh, bi."

"See you fit in just fine."

"Yeah, Clint, it's you who doesn't, hetero trash," James—or Buck?—said, throwing a sugar packet at him.

"Something you should know about Bucky," Clint said to Tony loud enough for the whole table to hear, "he's an asshole.”

  


It was much later that evening that they finally decided to go bar-hopping and there were very specific requirements for the bars they frequented.

"Good music," Steve said, loving to dance despite being so bad that it was adorable, according to Natasha. Tony hadn’t really expected her to use the word ‘adorable’ for anything but she seemed to have a soft spot for Steve and who could blame her? He _was_ adorable.

"But not dubstep, drill or anything Kygo. I swear if I hear another flute..." Sam threatened.

"There's a good place three blocks over. Live music, five star bar rating, enough space to dance and drink," Clint said, checking his phone and pointing in the direction they needed to start walking. "Any other stupid must-haves or can we go now?"

They all grunted in agreement and followed behind Clint.

Tony was walking alone, smiling to himself because he was genuinely having fun and he hadn't felt this nice and light in a long time. He'd almost forgotten how relaxing it was.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Steve said, falling back from talking to Clint to walk beside him. Bucky followed suit, coming to stand on the other side of Tony. Steve looked over Tony’s head at Bucky and made a face. Bucky nodded, excused himself with some half-assed excuse and jogged to catch up with Natasha and Sam who were now leading the group as Clint struggled to get his map app to cooperate.

“What was that about?” Tony asked, no stranger to bluntness. Steve was surprised at Tony’s question if his rambling was anything to go by.

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t realize you’d noticed that.”

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m short not blind.” Steve mouthed ‘right’ and apologized.

“I figured it might be easier for you to settle in if you did it one by one instead of having us flank and interrogate you.” Tony nodded slowly, understanding. “Plus, maybe leave Buck for last. He’s quite the character.” There was both fondness and earnestness to his statement that made Tony think that went beyond playful ribbing and instead carried a fraction of weight.

“Good to know.”

“Whaddya say, let’s take this from the top,” Steve suggested and Tony looked up at him, waiting. “Steve Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve tilted his head to the side.

“You have a last name, Tony?”

“Like most people, yeah.” Steve narrowed his eyes playfully at Tony. Clint had mentioned over text that Tony was…guarded. Not secretive, not willfully standoffish but that it stemmed from somewhere else, somewhere from which no one could blame Tony for how he was. Clint hadn’t gone into detail, respecting Tony’s privacy, but he’d definitely felt it necessary to tell this asshole-y, blunt, and straight up rude at times group of people to treat Tony nicely.

Steve laughed, which caught Tony off guard. Normally, withholding information got him a snide remark from people about thinking too much of himself to share. Steve just laughed it off and asked a different question which was a welcome relief to Tony. Whether or not he’d ever admit it to anyone but himself—and even that was a feat in and of itself—Tony wanted friends and he kind of wanted _these_ friends in particular.

“So what _can_ I ask you?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Just tell me something. Anything.”

Tony thought long and hard. This was the second time—Clint being the first—that anyone had wanted to know about Tony. Rhodey of course did but he already knew Tony, he’d grown up with him; there was nothing to tell.

“I, uh—”

When it seemed like Tony was struggling to come up with something, Steve butted in and asked: “What’s your favorite color?”

“Hot rod red,” Tony answered immediately, a little shocked at how fast the words left him. “You?”

Steve looked over at Tony and hesitated. “Blue. Like deep ocean blue.” _The color of your eyes_ , Tony wanted to add but there were two problems with this: firstly, while Tony could be a shameless flirt, something told him he should wait until at least the next time they met to start. Secondly, Steve’s eyes were less deep ocean and more perfect summer sky. A pure, good mood-inducing kind of hue.

“Any other questions?” he asked in lieu of saying any of the things that had just gone through his head. Steve touched his hand to his chin, thinking, his eyes darting around their surroundings, searching for inspiration. He wanted a good question, not something so often asked again and then his eyes lit up.

“What’s your _least_ favorite color?” Tony stared at him a moment before his face broke out into a grin and a laugh bubbled up out of him. Steve was chuckling too, feeling extra proud of himself for hopefully starting off Tony’s first night out with them really well.

 

The bar/club lived up to its five star rating for drinks; they were damn good. The music wasn't anything to complain about and after a few tequila shots with Clint, Steve hit the dance floor and had no shortage of willing partners. Natasha and Clint were off in a corner to themselves drinking and making out even dancing a little and Tony was honest to god just happy to be there with them all.

And to have a drink in hand. Fake IDs were an absolute gift.

Sam had found a guy named T’Challa across the room and if the constant contact and laughing coming from them was any indication, neither would be going home alone tonight.

Bucky had made a full circle, flirting with one person after another and Tony had been sent at least three drinks from one girl and two guys maybe the same age as Clint. He smiled and thanked them but didn't go any further.

"You look like fun," said a boy with a buzzcut and thick-rimmed black glasses.

"I can be, depends on what we're doing." The boy laughed. He had a nice smile and he was decent-looking. Not totally Tony's type but hey, why be choosy?

It was an hour into talking to Ty, the boy, when he leaned in and kissed Tony. Tony kissed back at first but when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Steve glaring at the back of Ty’s head from across the room, still dancing but slowly, just swaying to the music with the girl in front of him. He quickly dropped his gaze, blushing, or was he just hot from dancing and Tony was reading too much into it?

The third time Tony caught Steve watching him he pushed away from Ty, apologized, slid him a fifty and said, "Next few are on me. Sorry about this." He left him at the bar and walked up to Steve, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Wha—oh, hey, what happened to—"

“Let's dance," Tony said, pulling Steve by his wrist. Steve called out a sincere apology as he was dragged away from the girl and followed Tony.

The song was medium speed, a steady, body-shaking bass thudded and shook the entire club. Steve was flustered and didn't know what to do at first—the shock of it all stalling him—and when Tony grabbed Steve’s hands and put them low on his own hips, Steve faltered.

Tony refused to meet his eyes for fear of being rejected. He just wanted to dance, not ask why Steve wasn’t into it. Steve was the one who had been staring at Tony the whole night, right? So that meant something or was he just going into big brother protection mode over the obviously younger Tony?

Against his better—or worse, he honestly wasn’t sure—judgment, he looked up at Steve, putting some distance between them. Steve’s face was totally red.

“Do you not want to dance?”

“No, no, I do I’m just, uh, before I was just swaying. This is, uh, a little more than that. I’m not... a great dancer,” he chuckled.

 “Oh,” Tony said, relieved, “let me show you. There’s nothing to it.” He took Steve’s hands and placed them once again on his hips, swinging them gently left and right to the music. “Just follow my rhythm.”

 Steve did as he was told, moving in time with Tony, his gaze jumping from his waist to his eyes and he gave him a small smile when he fell into step with him.

“Great, okay, now try this on for size,” Tony said, and turned again, pressing back against Steve. “Same idea, only I’m not staring at you like some middle school dance in the gym.” Steve laughed but quickly got the idea. He was a fast learner, it seemed.

 

Two hours later, Steve and Tony had found a booth to themselves. They’d downed a few drinks—beer for Steve and vodka shots for Tony—and were just talking. It was nice although Tony was still suspicious of it.

“So why art?” Tony asked, knocking back another shot. Tony’s ability to handle liquor like he did in that little body of his was something Steve had been in awe of the entire evening.

“My ma always said the pictures I brought her were her second favorite things to come through the door,” he explained with a fondness in his voice and expression, his Brooklyn heritage slipping into his accent. “She kind of got the ball rolling. So I did it a lot, got pretty good and here I am years later studying illustration.”

 Tony was insanely jealous but it didn’t read on his face. He loved physics and engineering, he did, he just wished his own parents had been the ones to instill it in him rather than him using it to fill the gaps in his childhood where they should have been.

“Is she proud of you?” Tony asked, knocking back another shot.

“I like to think so.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Steve’s eyes fell from Tony’s face for the first time in a long time and he answered, his tone changed slightly.

“She, uh, passed some time ago.”

Tony nearly spat out his drink but managed to keep his mouth shut, coughing once he finally swallowed. “Oh my god, Steve, I’m so sorry.” Steve dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

“It was a while ago. I’m at peace with it now. She was really sick for as long as I can remember. Cancer, you know? It was almost a, uh, relief when she finally passed. At least I knew she wasn’t in any pain anymore,” he said, his mouth tugging downward slightly but when he met Tony’s eyes again, the sadness was mostly gone.

“Well, I’m sure she’s proud of you.” Tony wasn’t sure what it was about this man that made him want to be nice to him. He didn’t feel the desire to keep up his usual wall of sarcasm and disdain for everything in general. More importantly, Tony didn’t feel the _need_ to do it either. He often didn’t have the desire to put on his fake face and pretend nothing bothered him but it was rare that he did not feel it was _necessary_ and with Steve there was an eerie sense of safety that almost made Tony laugh because only someone as fucked up as him would find safety eerie.

They sat in silence and sipped their drinks for a few minutes before Tony spoke up again, intrigued by Steve Rogers and inexplicably curious about his past.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.” Tony sucked in a breath through his teeth. “It was hard at first.”

“So you went to live with relatives?” Tony assumed Steve’s father was out of the picture and while he felt they weren’t quite close enough for him to ask he also had next to no desire to talk about fathers. If he asked about Steve’s, Steve would undoubtedly ask about his and that was a topic he wished Clint would forget existed.

“No, I was raised by the good ol’ state of New York,” he said with an unreadable smile. Tony wasn’t sure what to say. He knew ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t fit but he also didn’t want to come across as uncaring and say nothing. Thankfully, Steve gave him a free pass by continuing to talk. “Bucky and I,” he began, jerking his chin over to where Bucky was sat talking to some random guy, “we grew up together in the same foster home.”

“Why do you all call him Bucky?”

Steve laughed. “It’s a nickname I’ve had for him since we were kids. The others just kind of picked it up when they met us. His middle name’s Buchanan,” he explained. Tony nodded. At least that mystery was solved.

 

By the time the others wanted to leave, Sam was long gone with his new friend, and Steve and Tony were still drinking and talking.

“I’m glad Clint met you, Tony."

“Why? Bored of the others?” Tony joked, still not wholly comfortable with outright niceness being directed towards him.

Steve looked puzzled but answered nonetheless. “Well, I could do with less of Buck and Sam’s bickering but, no, you seem like a good fit to the group.”

“Well then here’s to Clint,” Tony said genuinely. It would be a cold day in hell that he would say it aloud but he was grateful for Clint. Clint had saved his life. If not that night, Tony was sure he would have found himself in some life-threatening situation again soon. Before Clint, he saw no way out and now with him in his life—as well as the other four he brought with him—Tony might have still been trapped in some respects but at least he knew not all was bad and even if it was, not all of the time.

Steve scooted closer to Tony, his movements slowed slightly by how much he had drank, and touched their glasses together with a soft clink. If Tony was living for the warmth created by the area where their arms were touching, he was most certainly going to keep that to himself.

"Hey, alcoholics, let's go. Place is getting raunchy," Clint said, Natasha leaning heavily on one side of him, her eyes barely open.

"What's up with her? And where's Buck”

"Shot drinking contest. Nat won," Clint said, beaming and planting a slightly sloppy kiss on her forehead. She smiled and nuzzled against his neck. “Bucky’s passed out in that booth over there. Imma need help carrying him."

"Nah, I got him. The punk." Steve stood and Tony with him.

 

Tony was sobering quickly now out in the cool air and Steve was carrying Bucky fireman style. They were saying their goodnights and Tony wasn't sure what to expect when Steve got to him so when they hugged he was oddly happy and sad. The worst part was, Tony had no idea why he felt any particular way at all about this. What did it matter if Steve hugged him? Was this just more of his sad boy yearnings for love and his attention starvation? He had liked people before—found them particularly good-looking—without actually desiring physical contact that wasn’t strictly necessary. What made now so different?

 

That entire night, Tony barely slept, replaying the whole day over and over in his head. He could hardly believe that he had gone from having no one to almost having a group of people he called ‘friends’ in just a few days. Granted, Clint had been working on him for longer than that but in two days, Tony had picked up five new friends. The last thing he remembered before succumbing to sleep was smiling into the darkness, a warm feeling in his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes out
> 
>  
> 
> aka "Howard Stark is a flaming asshole and the MCU will never convince me otherwise"

Tony saw the others frequently on campus now that he knew their faces. He wondered how many times he had passed them and not even known who they were or that they would one day be his friends. Even in the weeks it took for Clint to break through to him, he still hadn't met them and couldn't remember having ever seen them when he did finally make their acquaintance and now it seemed like every corner he turned one of them was there.

Today it was Steve.

"Hey, Tony.”

“Steve,” he replied with a tentative smile. The blond came jogging over, barely even bothering to check for incoming cars as he crossed but such were the habits of New Yorkers. He walked in time with Tony but didn’t speak, texting on his phone. Tony followed suit, feeling awkward. He checked his own phone and saw a reminder that he was to have a 'family dinner' this Friday and that he should wear a tie.

Oh goodie, how exciting.

“What do you do?”

“Huh?”

“For work?” Steve asked, his neck still craned over his smartphone as his thumbs flew over the screen, sending a very long and excited message to someone. It made Tony want to sulk when he saw Steve give his phone a quick smile before putting it away.

“I’m a mechanic at Carelli’s auto-shop over on 45th.”

“Really?”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

Steve shrugged. “No reason, really, you’ve just got really dai—”

“Say ‘dainty hands’, Rogers. I dare you,” Tony teased, giving Steve a dirty look that made him chuckle. He raised his hands in surrender. “What about you? What job do you and your normal-sized man hands do for a living?”

Steve grinned, eyeing Tony. “I’m a painter. Less Picasso and more Sherwin-Williams.” Tony nodded and mouthed ‘aha.’ Steve checked his watch and frowned. “And duty calls,” he said, someone catching his eye and making him do a double take. Tony followed his line of sight to see Clint sitting on a bench alone, eating a hotdog. “Now I’m not normally a gambling man but—”

“A dollar says he’s not leaving stain free,” Tony finished. Steve reached over and Tony stared at his hand for a millisecond too long before realizing what it was that Steve wanted. He took Steve’s hand in his own and gave it one firm shake, refusing to let his mind linger on how Steve’s hand felt in his own.  

Sure enough, one bite into it and mustard spilled out the other end onto his pant leg.

“Aw, hotdog,” they heard him grumble, wiping at it with a napkin while they were laughing. Steve put a hand on Tony’s shoulder as he laughed and Tony revelled in the contact. "Aw, hey, you shits, did you really just watch that happen? Nat's gonna be so pissed. This is the fourth time this week."

"It's Wednesday," Steve said wryly. Tony glanced up at Steve, grinning.

"I know. It's happened everyday and twice on Tuesday." He looked so forlorn but then the two in front of him took his attention away from his current dilemma. "What're you guys doing together?"

"Wasn't the whole point for me to get new friends?" Tony said.

“Yeah…” he said, scratching his head.

"I gotta run but see you both Saturday if I don’t see you sooner?"

"What's Saturday?" Tony asked.

"Aw, Barton, catch him up.” Steve told him to explain and then ran off to work, Tony watching him go.

"I like Steve.”

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

“Nothing,” he lied. “I’ve just yet to meet someone who doesn’t.”

 

*   * *

 

Friday night Tony forewent his family dinner and spent the night again at Clint and Natasha's per her request because, as she explained, it would make meeting up at the diner again easier.

The entire table was even more relaxed this time around and in no time they were all deep in a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill.

"Ok, Sam: our waiter, me, and the guy putting on his coat," Clint suggested, taking a bite of his peach cobbler.

"Easy. Fuck the hell out of you, Barton." Clint pretended to swoon. Tony noted the complete lack of reaction from Natasha when Sam chose Clint as the person he’d fuck. These were some close friends. “Kill trench coat and marry the waiter. He has really nice hands, any of you notice?” Bucky and Natasha grunted in agreement.

"Alright, Tony." Tony was ready for this. “That woman pouring her coffee over there, Bucky, and Steve," Sam offered.

Tony pretended to give this immense thought, not yet ready—and perhaps never ready—to let anyone know how he felt. “Well I mean she’s pouring coffee and I do like me some coffee but… nah, kill her… marry you—” he pointed at Steve "—and fuck you?” he finished, his end statement a question because while he definitely thought Bucky was attractive, he would’ve rather given the last two options both to Steve.

Tony was a smart kid and not just book-smarts. While he could get so wrapped up in his tinkering and studies that he was forget to eat and only sleep when forced, he was still not lacking in the common sense department. He knew a crush when he saw one and he was most certainly crushing hard on Steve. He knew Steve was bisexual but that didn’t mean he was Tony-sexual and Tony would rather live with the crush than lose one of his new friends by making things weird.

Bucky looked smug and Steve was beet red. Natasha and Clint were exchanging glances and Sam was eyeing Tony curiously.

"Sounds like you've given this some thought."

"Nah I've just kinda got a thing for blue eyes,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice casual. And it was true—he did love blue eyes but he’d only chosen that because both men had them. What he really wanted to say was ‘I’ve just got a thing for six foot two blond men with blue eyes named Steve’ but that might have fallen into the category of ‘making things weird.’ To further solidify his pseudo-equality on the matter he added, “I was honestly shocked when you told me both—all—of you were single.” Steve’s blush went impossibly redder, moving down his neck, and Tony felt a rush of heat at the thought of how far down the blush went. He quickly pushed the thought away and looked anywhere that wasn’t at Steve.

Clint wasn't sure when or how but Tony had really relaxed. "Bucky," Tony began, skipping Steve on purpose because he wasn’t sure which would be more suspicious—choosing him next or not so he went for not. He smirked. "Sam, Steve, me."

Bucky snorted, a little shocked. He glanced quickly at Natasha and Clint but neither of them looked particularly worried.

"Alright, Stark, let's play. Kill Sam—"

"Nobody fucking saw that one coming," Sam grumbled. Bucky’s eyes slid to him briefly, an emotion there Tony couldn’t translate, before looking back to Tony.

"Hm." He rubbed at his stubbled chin, glancing between his best friend and this good-looking newcomer. "Probably marry Stevie and fuck you."

"Hold up. How the hell did you just go from 'pleased to meet you all' to 'imma bang your friend' in zero point two seconds?" Sam asked. Tony shrugged.

“Honestly thought that was how the game worked but if I’m mistaken—” Tony began with his usual levels of sarcasm only to be interrupted by Clint.

"Before this, uh, gets out of hand, Tony, you gotta tell us, man, how old _are_ you?" Tony seized up and looked like he wanted to punch Clint right in the teeth. It was not a difficult expression to read.

"I'm not legally allowed to drink and that's all you need to know," he said pleasantly.

They dropped it, all of them, and Sam quickly made a joke to lighten the mood. Occasionally, Tony would look up to Steve or Bucky or both staring at him and he would quickly avert his gaze. Before that evening, Tony felt feather-light when he caught Steve’s eyes but the look was tainted now. As for Bucky… well, he hoped his plan wasn’t working too well and Bucky now thought he had a thing for him.

 

When they parted ways, Tony got a hug from everyone, which were way nicer than he would ever admit them to be. He, Steve and Bucky talked a few seconds longer before parting ways. He would have been excited that Steve gave him his number if not for the fact that Bucky had done the same. It completely removed the possibility of emotional ambiguity.

 

"You and Steve got cosy real fast,” Clint commented on the walk home. Natasha was walking ahead of them, knowing Clint wanted to talk to him privately.

"Yeah, what of it?"

" _And_ he's back." Tony looked at him sidelong. "You act less douchey when they're around."

"You're new to the whole compliments thing, aren't you?"

Clint laughed. "But defense mechanisms are all too familiar to you, huh?" Tony opened his mouth to speak but wasn't sure what to say. "Natasha's a psych major and likes to read her papers to me so I fall asleep. Spoiler alert, I listen sometimes.” Despite the distance, he heard her let out a soft snort at that. “So what’s the deal with Bucky and Steve?”

“I don’t fucking know, Clint, they’re your friends you tell me,” he snapped. Clint was getting too close to Tony’s bottled up emotions for his liking so he resorted to complete hostility.

“Do you like one of them?”

“Why do I have to like them? People can’t flirt for fun? Sam did it with you, what’s the big fucking deal if I do it too? Or do I get a different set of friendship rules from all of you?” Clint was doing his best to remain calm because Tony was being a real ass and it was a side of him he hadn’t seen in a couple weeks. He had forgotten how entirely intolerable it was.

"The big deal is,” he finally answered after a deep breath, “all I know is that you're under twenty. Bucky’s twenty-two, Steve’s twenty-one. I'm just trying to look out for y—”

"I never asked you to do that."

"Well that's too damn bad because every time I look at you all I can think is that I need to make sure you're alright."

"Why? Why on earth, Clint? I don't need you to, I'm not damn ba—”

"I know you're not a baby," Clint hissed, wanting him to shut up. “But my father sucked, your father sucks, your friend isn't here anymore," he said, counting the things off on his fingers. "I had a brother for a while and then he died, so I guess I'm just trying to be for you what I never had. A protector."

Tony's eyes were watery when he responded but that didn't prevent him from his mission to be the world’s biggest ass. "Well, gee, thanks. I never even knew I signed up for the Troubled Kids program."

"Screw you, Tony. You don't fucking get it."

Tony scoffed, his tongue in his cheek. "Whatever. I’ve got better places to be. Maybe I’ll go visit one of your too-fucking-old-for-me friends.”

Clint waved him away angrily and he stomped off in the opposite direction.

Natasha, finished with a mysterious phone call, took Clint's hand in hers and lead them home.

"Think I was too hard on him?"

“Maybe, but it’s what he needed to hear."

 

*   * *

 

The next morning Natasha came in and dropped a folded piece of paper in Clint's lap.

“What's this?"

"Just read it."

 

Clint burst in the door, not caring who wasn't dressed or awake. Natasha came in behind him. He rushed into the apartment and looked around frantically, hoping against hope that Tony had not come here in search of either Steve or Bucky as an outlet.

“Tony,” Clint called, standing in the middle of their living room, the paper still clutched to his chest.

Bucky leapt out of bed in a pair of boxer briefs and came out into the living room. Steve, in running clothes, his head wet with sweat, came out of Sam’s room with Sam in tow, dressed similarly.  

“What the hell, Barton? Why would Tony be here?” Bucky asked.

“We had a fight. I just thought—”

“Also who the hell gave you a key?” Sam demanded.

“It’s mine,” Natasha said and none of them even questioned why _she_ would have one. It just seemed to make sense. Natasha stood slightly behind Clint, arms over her chest, expression blank but she was flexing her jaw worryingly.

“Clint? What’s going on,” Sam asked, his tone different this time around, anxious. “Is Tony—”

“He’s sixteen.”

“What,” Bucky deadpanned. Steve had to lean against the wall.

"You're shitting us," Steve said.

"I am not. See for yourself." He handed Steve the folded piece of paper and watched the man scan the words written there. Sure enough under his name was his birthday making him sixteen years and ten months old.

“Listen,” Natasha ordered. They turned to her, questioning looks. “Seventeen is the age of consent in New York. If none of you have a thing for him, that’s fine. If any of you do,” she said, looking at all three of the men in turn, “that’s too damn bad. You have to wait.” They nodded their understanding and obedience.

"Does he even go to our school?" Sam asked. "Is he like a professor’s kid?"

"Seriously? Nat got this from the school records. He's a sixteen-year-old sophomore." Clint was pacing, hands on his head. He wasn't panicking but he was having a hard time processing all of this.

Tony was so young. So, so young. Sixteen and already ready to end it all. There's no way Clint got everything out of his drunk phone call the other night.

How shitty must his life really be?

 

The answer was very. Especially right in that moment.

"Fucking idiot," his father barked. "Where have you been? You were supposed to come home for dinner. Your mother was worried sick."

"I spent the night at some frien—"

"Friends?"

"Some people I met on campus."

Howard scoffed. "Probably just out whoring around. Tony, do you know how this looks for me? When you go missing and I can't answer where my son is? All I can say is probably at some club with a skank on his arm—"

"Or mank."

"What the hell did you just say?"

"I said 'or mank'."

"The fuck does that mean?”

"It's a male skank. You said I'd be in a club with a skank—typically a woman—but it could also, uh, be a mank. A mal—" Howard struck Tony across the face, knocking him to the floor. Tony held his throbbing cheek, not so much shocked at being hit but it had definitely been a while since he’d received a backhand from the class ring hand. There was blood on his fingers when he pulled them away to look at them.

“You must take a lot of pride in being a fucking inconvenience.” Why those words hurt worse than the open wound on his face Tony would never understand. And he hated that about himself. He hated that he was so sensitive, that Howard could get to him so easily with his words when his fists did little to shut Tony up. And what Tony hated the most was how no matter what Howard did or said to him, the person Tony hated the most each and every time was himself. “It’s always one thing after the next with you.”

Howard looked at him like he meant nothing, was nothing. He did not look at Tony like he was Howard’s only child, a boy of sixteen whom he had just physically abused. There was no remorse in his eyes, no apology ever left his lips or crossed his mind for that matter.

“I wasn’t—” Tony began, already trying to apologize for… what? He didn’t know, he just knew that he was going to have to be the one to cave in if he didn’t want to get hit or hurt again.

Howard waved a hand dismissively, sitting in his chair again. He steepled his fingers, resting his lips on them and staring at Tony. Tony felt naked and exposed, vulnerable. He despised it but he knew better than to do anything but wait for Howard to speak.

“So you’re a homo now? You couldn’t just rebel against me in the normal way? Get a tattoo or a piercing?” he asked, his tone derisive, the corner of his mouth twitching up into the distant cousin of a smile. This was more like a malicious grin.  

Tony was getting angry and that never mixed well with Howard being angry. He wasn’t doing a damn thing to rebel against Howard. How dare he assume Tony’s only goal in life was to make his hard when that was exactly what Howard’s goal seemed to be. “I’m not rebelling,” he said in a tone that made Howard’s hands twitch like he was itching to hit Tony again. “And I’m not a _homo_ now I always have been b—”

“Say one more word, you goddamned little idiot,” he warned. Tony promptly stopped talking. Howard sighed and straightened his tie, checked his messages and then looked up again, dragging a hand down his face. “Get out.”

“Wait, wh—”

"Get out!" He roared. Tony scrambled out, not eager to be hit again. He had expected angry, livid even, but kicking him out?

 

Tony hovered outside Clint and Natasha's apartment. He was unsure about this, about a lot. He'd been unsure the entire way over but all that unsureness had tripled since standing outside their home. He had one backpack full of books, another with clothes, his laptop, and other things he deemed important, like a picture of him and Jarvis. He had finally mustered the courage to ring the bell but there was no answer. He didn't bother phoning Clint because the doorbell was an obvious enough sign.

He sat on the front steps and put his head in his hands.

 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there but when he felt someone shaking his shoulder, he lashed out and caught their chin, realizing two things:

  1. He'd fallen asleep.
  2. He'd just hit Clint.



"Fuck, I'm so sorry—"

"Me? What the hell happened to you?"

Tony realized a third thing: he hadn't seen his face since Howard had struck him but judging by the pain and the swelling he could feel, it probably wasn't pretty.

He still managed to smirk around the bruises. "I came out and got put out."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New roommates

Clint turned to Natasha just as she opened her mouth but he spoke first.

"He's staying here, Nat." She scoffed like he had insulted her.

"Of course he is, you bonehead." Clint grinned, reaching down to take Tony's bags from him.

"I assume that's why you brought all this stuff, right?" Tony didn't say anything and Natasha saw him fighting back tears. She took him gently by the elbow and led him inside, never losing contact with him. He appreciated a touch that wasn’t threatening. 

They took him into the spare room and she sat him down on the bed, taking his hands in hers. She held them tightly and Tony finally looked up at her. She could tell he was about to break but his eyes flickered to Clint so Natasha stood and left them, closing the door. Clint sat with Tony and he all but threw himself into Clint's arms.

Clint held him, rocking slowly and tightening his hold when the first sobs broke through. They ripped violently through Tony and Clint wasn’t sure his little frame could even handle them. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay, Tony." He petted his hair and Tony continued to sob, managing broken phrases every now and then.

"Why do I keep fucking up?" He wailed, face still buried in Clint's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Clint."

“Hey, hey. You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Tony. I wasn’t the greatest yesterday either but I’m—we’re—here for you.”  

It took almost a full hour but he managed to cry himself out. He continued leaning against Clint, staring blankly into a middle space. Clint had not once let go of him. He had no intention of letting go until Tony did and maybe not even then. Natasha came in then, poking her head around the door.

"I made cookies and hot chocolate." Her smile was warm and everything Tony had ever wanted and he stood, taking Clint's hand, and pulled him into the living room. Clint knew the hand-holding was definitely not something to comment on nor to ask about at a later date. It was just to be accepted because Tony needed this. He needed a support system, he needed to be and feel loved, appreciated and wanted. He needed physical contact that didn’t hurt. So Clint gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He sat on the couch with the plate of cookies and a mug of hot chocolate, a blanket wrapped around him like a burrito and Star Trek playing on the TV even though he wasn't really paying attention but Clint remembering an offhand comment about Star Trek enough to put it on now made Tony feel infinitesimally better. It wasn’t long before Tony fell asleep and Natasha and Clint retreated to the kitchen to talk.

"Is it just because I know now or has he always looked so young?"

"I think it's the fact that he's asleep." She tilted her head to look at his face better. It was soft and round where it should've been a little harder if he were older.

From Tony's bedroom Clint could hear a phone ringing. He dug through his things until he found it. The display said Jarvis and the picture looked much too happy to be Howard.

"Hello?"

"Master Tony?"

"No, this is a friend of his. He's asleep right now, could I take a message?"

"I just wanted to make sure he was alright. Clint, I assume?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Master Tony speaks fondly of you. So much so that I was almost jealous." There was a laugh on the other end of the line. "Take care of him. His father is not the most understanding man and I don't know when he'll be agreeable to letting him come back home."

"I will. I promise."

"And I believe you. Don't make me regret that. Give him my love when he wakes. A pleasure speaking to you, Mr Barton."

"Likewise, uh, Jarvis."

 

*   * *

 

The next morning, Sam and Bucky were standing in Clint and Natasha’s kitchen, all speaking in hushed voices so as not to wake the sleeping teenager in the room over. Steve had a morning paint job that he sorely needed the money from. He promised to come as soon as it was finished. Bucky shook his head and blew air out of his nose. 

“Six-fucking-teen. I still can’t wrap my head around it. I...” He let his thought trail off, turning slightly to glance down the hallway, make sure he was still sleep. He didn’t need to know they’d found out his age on top of everything that was going on. As far as they could tell, it seemed to be a sore spot. 

“At his age I was an immature little juvenile. Maturity like that is rare," Sam said.

“At  _ his _ age? You’re still an immature little juvenile,” Bucky quipped and Sam glared at him over the rim of his coffee cup, quietly telling him to ‘fuck off’.

Natasha ignored them, adding, “Probably has to do with his home life.”

“Yeah, Papa Stark isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. He’s a piece of work,” Clint explained. 

“He put his hands on him?” Bucky asked, his voice tight now and eyes hard despite teasing Sam only seconds ago. Clint stuffed his hands into his pajama pants pockets and nodded, sighing deeply. 

“He’s pretty banged up. It’s probably worse this morning now that the bruising has set in.” It was almost ten o’clock and they’d still not seen nor heard from Tony. Natasha tiptoed past every now and then to check that he was still asleep and not just lying there by himself. The last thing he needed right now was to be alone, self-imposed or not. 

“Just the hits or…?” Clint knew what Bucky was getting at; he, too, had had his fair share of abuse over the years. Clint shook his head grimly. 

“Is it bad to say ‘I wish’? Because I wish that’s all it was. That part doesn’t seem to bother him but from what I know, his father is a manipulative sadist. It’s like he lives just to break Tony down.” Natasha put a hand on Clint’s and squeezed. He huffed angrily and released the tension he had been holding in his body, unclenching his fists. 

Bucky’s expression was mostly blank on purpose but Natasha saw the flash of anger in his eyes before he had the chance to hide it away as well. She knew she wanted to do terrible things to Tony’s father so she could only imagine how Bucky and Clint felt. 

“So now what?” Sam asked and it was the one question they were trying to avoid if only because they didn’t have an answer to it yet.

“I dunno, man,” Clint finally said, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean, he’s welcome to stay here as long as he needs but eventually his father’s going to have to let him come back home, right?” Clint knew the answer to that could very well be no. His own father hadn’t even needed a reason to kick him out.

Tony stirred, the sound of the covers being thrown back, and the group froze. They knew logically that going silent as Tony walked into the kitchen was only likely to piss him off—as he would quickly deduce that they’d been talking about him—but they were all too on edge and full of hate for Howard to pretend to carry on idle chit chat. 

Tony padded into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he hissed in pain and skidded to a stop in front of the group. He had completely forgotten about his face, his brain still foggy with sleep, and had rubbed a knuckle right into the swollen skin. He touched it gently, cursing, and then startled when he finally registered all the eyes staring at him in silence. 

“Holy shit,” he said, jumping back. When they said nothing, only stared wordlessly at his bruised and bloodied face, as was the Tony way, he tried to laugh off the pain. “You should see the other guy.” No one even cracked a smile. “Tough crowd,” he added, ducking his head and sliding in past them to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Morning to you all too. Not weird at all to have you not say anything to me. I totally don’t feel like some kind of kicked puppy or anything. Not even a little bit.” The sarcasm was laid on thick and honestly, they deserved that one. Someone should’ve said something. 

And finally, someone did.

“Here,” Sam said, moving to take out a cold compress from the fridge, “let me take a look at that.”

“It’s nothing. It’ll heal—”

“Better if you let me take a look at it.” Tony caved, not having the energy to argue, and allowed Sam to lead him to the bathroom. 

Sam reached into one of the cabinets and took out a soft towel, wetting it with cold water. He dabbed Tony's face with the deft movements of someone who knew what he was doing.

"Why are you good at this?"

"I'm studying to be a nurse," he said, still tending to Tony. He reached again into the cabinet and took out some alcohol and a cotton ball. He cleaned the cut despite Tony's wincing and put a bandaid over it. Also from the cabinet he removed aspirin and handed two tablets to Tony. "Hold onto these for a second. As for the bruising, let's see, yep. Right where it should be." Sam removed a bottle of clear liquid that Tony didn't recognized and began applying it to the bruise with another cotton pad. “Keep the cold compress on it for fifteen minutes every hour to reduce the swelling and tomorrow you should use the warm one Clint's got around here somewhere."

"Th-thanks, I don't—”

"Don't mention it. You're a part of the gang, Tony." He patted his shoulder walked back towards the kitchen, looking over his shoulder for Tony to follow. When they got back, the group was behaving a lot better. 

"Did you just have this on hand for me?” Tony asked, holding up the cold compress. 

"We tend to get into fights a lot. Something that comes from understanding a thing or two about bullies, I guess," Steve said with a mischievous grin and when did he get here? In Steve’s presence, Tony suddenly felt even worse. And he now knew he also looked like shit, which wasn’t helping his overall mood. He was beginning to shut down; not an uncommon reaction after a Howard Stark trademark physical and verbal beating. 

He  _ was _ an inconvenience. 

Just look at him now—ruining what would otherwise be a perfectly good morning for these people. Flirting with Steve when he knew that Steve could never like him back and on the off chance that he did, how fair would it be for him to let Steve date him when he was the monumental fuck-up that he was?

He backed away slowly, back towards his room like a frightened animal. He reached up and touched the sore areas again and shook his head gently.

“I just—I’ve got some tests coming up and—” Lies, all of it. It was the middle of the semester and Tony never studied for tests; he didn’t have to. 

“You don’t need an excuse, Tony,” Natasha said. “We're here if you want us and we’ll stay here until you do.”

“Before you go, Jarvis called. Told me to give you his love,” Clint said. Tony bit his lip, his gaze dropping to the floor. He nodded slowly and then backed away and left without another word. 

Clint followed and Tony didn’t protest it. He went into the room and sat on the bed, staring at the floor. His expression was blank and he was still chewing his bottom lip. Clint wasn’t sure if he should comfort him physically or with words so he spoke a language they both knew—avoidance.

"How about I help you unpack?"

Tony’s head snapped up. ”Unpack?"

“Yeah, unpack. You know, you can put your things in the drawer and hang stuff up in the closet. Maybe even add your toothbrush to the collection in the bathroom?"

"Come again?"

"You're staying with us, Tony. Until it's safe for you to go back home you're not going anywhere else, dude, don't fight me on this. This is your room now. And your home.”

"I'm not fighting you but you don't mind? Be honest with me. Please,” he added in a tone Clint didn’t recognize or understand. Tony was tired of being a burden on people. 

“No, we don't mind," Clint said firmly. “We’re happy to have you here, man, and happy to help.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are more obvious than Tony thinks. Mistrust begets mistrust. Lt. Col. James Rhodes to the rescue.

Monday morning two weeks later Tony was in the kitchen bright and early. He had an eight thirty class he didn't want to miss. Moments later Natasha came in already fully dressed.

"Morning, Tony," she said, petting his hair as she passed.

"Morning. Coffee?" He asked, holding up the brew he had made. His sixteen year old status made a lot of his habits now seem odd. Like his large coffee consumption but they had promised to only comment on the unhealthy habits and Tony seemed to need coffee to function.

She shook her head, curls bouncing lightly. "Tea kind of girl."

"What's got you up so early?"

"I've got a ballet class to teach this morning. Toddlers," she said with all the enthusiasm of a wet sock. He mouthed the word 'ah' and went back to eating his sugary cereal. He was more of a cornflakes kind of guy but Clint loved anything coated in sugar and artificial flavoring.

 

Class went by almost too fast. Tony was hoping the two hour lecture would drag on and on and give him some time to focus his mind on something easy, something he could understand. Physics was simple and it didn't change. He always knew the answer and he knew how to find it but people were complicated.

He didn't know what to do about his father. Would he go home anytime soon? Ever again?

However, that wasn't his biggest worry. Clint and his friends—who were now also Tony's friends—were so nice and Tony wasn't sure how to handle it. He appreciated it more than anything but he wasn't good at maintaining relationships. Rhodey was his longest and they spent months at a time apart. He wanted to make this work. He wanted to be friends with them all—especially Clint. 

And Steve who he still had a stupid crush on.

"Stark," he heard shouted from across the street. He lifted his head away from his phone and looked out to see Bucky on the other side, crossing to join him. 

“Hi." Tony was tense and he couldn't help it. He still wasn’t quite sure if Bucky had gotten the wrong idea plus he knew he wasn’t in the mood to talk about his circumstances. Any of them. So he attempted to keep things light. "You just have class?"

"Yeah."

"I don't even know what you're studying," Tony said with a forced laugh and lightness.

Bucky didn’t have _feelings_ for Tony but he was certainly attracted to him and he kind of hated himself for it. He felt like a pervert and he wasn’t even sure Tony felt the same towards him. 

"History with a focus on modern languages. I learned Russian in high school and from there I just kind of fell in love with them."

"And yet you mock, Natasha." Bucky grinned.

"I do but she needs someone to mock her, keep her down to earth. Otherwise I feel like she forgets she's just a tiny human," he said thoughtfully and then laughed. "What about you? Where are you going or coming fro—”

“Bucky,” Tony said, turning to him, “I think—if I may be so bold and narcissistic—that I’ve kinda given you the wrong impression.” Bucky closed his mouth that had been sitting open ever since Tony had interrupted. 

 “Wrong impression?” 

  “Do you like me?” Tony asked, just coming out with it. He wasn’t sure if this was already in use as a form of torture but if not they should definitely get on that. Bucky simply nodded. Apparently, this kind of thing would not work as torture for him. Tony would have to figure out what made him blush at a later date because so far their little group had discussed some heavy and embarrassing topics and the most Bucky had done was snort. 

“I am _attracted_ to you but—”

“Listen,” Tony said, tired and ready to sleep for ten hours, maybe more. “Complete honesty?” Bucky nodded. “I like Steve.” 

“Okay.” 

“ _Okay_? What the hell do you mean by ‘okay’?” Bucky chuckled and motioned for them to continue walking. 

“I mean ‘okay’. Does it have another meaning where you come from all the way over in Manhattan?” Tony narrowed his eyes at Bucky, not understanding and definitely not appreciating the tone.

“Fine, explain.” 

“It wasn’t even a crush, Tony. I’m attracted to you. That’s all. Not that you’re not a great person but just… doesn’t matter. Point is, it’s fine. Steve, on the other hand—” He paused a beat to check his watch, apparently oblivious to Tony’s desperate need to know the end of that sentence. “Yeah, anyway,  as I was saying… oh, yeah. I’m fine with you liking Steve. No harsh feelings here.” Tony knew a topic change when he saw one. Bucky never forgot anything but Tony didn’t press. “And besides, I’ve had a thing for someone else for a couple months now.” Tony’s eyebrows shot up but no matter how much he pressed the topic, Bucky refused to give him a name. 

“Oh come on, you know I like Steve!”

“Everyone knows you like Steve except Steve.” 

“No, they don’t!” 

  


“I like Steve,” Tony announced at breakfast the next morning to a sleepy-eyed Clint and wide awake Natasha. He let his arms flop to his sides and sighed in relief. He sat down, waiting for what he was sure would be a litany of questions and varying shocked expressions.

Clint turned to Natasha. “Did we—”

“No, it was too obvious,” she finished, turning back to her breakfast. 

“I’m sorry but what the hell just happened? Where is my shock?” Was Bucky right? 

Clint chuckled, choosing to take a bite of his toast before answering and speak with his mouthful. “You telling us you like Steve would be like me telling you I like dogs. It’s obvious, man.” Tony could not stop the blush on his cheeks. 

“ _What_?” 

“Well I mean, you did dump a hot dude you were making out with to dance with him,” Natasha offered. 

“And spent the rest of the night talking to him,” Clint added. 

“You were really excited to get his number.” 

“Oh, and don’t forget how flustered he got when Steve gave him a hug.”

“True, that was adorable. Oh, also—”

“Okay, point _taken_ ,” Tony interrupted, annoyed. He stood to leave the kitchen but then paused. “What was—”

“I was wondering if we had put money on you liking him.”

“We didn’t,” Natasha said plainly. “It was too obvious.” Tony rolled his eyes and drank his coffee in silence, annoyed.  Natasha and Clint did all they could not to grin at the pout. 

It was a few days later that they all found themselves out and having a good time again. They had tried for another new bar, hoping to find their spot and this one seemed promising. No strobe-lighting, no disco-balls, no dry ice, no overpriced cocktails or ear-bleeding music. It was clean, adequately dimmed, reasonably priced, cosy and not too far of a trek from the area where they lived. 

They were sitting in a rounded booth that faced out onto the dance floor and across the other side of that space was the bar. They shared menus—one between two—and Steve and Tony ended up beside one another wedged in between Bucky and Natasha. Tony figured this was probably their doing but he didn’t mind any plan that ended in him being pressed up against Steve. 

“What are we thinking here, people? What’s the plan of attack?” Sam asked, looking at everyone briefly over his menu. “Like there’s this wild looking appetizer… the heart attack platter?” Sam read, suddenly unsure of his suggestion. 

“Are you suggesting we share food?” Clint said in mild shock. 

“Yes, Joey Tribbiani, sharing. It’s this cool new concept you might’ve learned had you gone to elementary school.”

“Rude, Wilson,” Bucky began, and Clint was surprised to hear Bucky defending him, “If that’s where you learn how to share then Clint knows how to share better than any of us. He repeated third grade four times.” Clint aimed his straw at Bucky and a small piece of ice landed smack in the middle of his forehead before he could duck. He cursed Clint but laughed. 

“The server is coming over and honestly, if any one of you says ‘five more minutes’ one more time, I’ll stab each of you in turn,” Natasha said. They all dropped their heads back to the menus and made their decisions, going for the appetizer combo and then a small thing for each of them individually. Steve, Clint, and Sam got beers, Bucky and Nat were sharing a bottle of vodka, and when the waitress got around to Tony who asked for a ‘scotch’ before showing his very fake ID, they all exchanged furtive looks and decided now was not the time to broach the subject of Tony’s age. 

When the food arrived a few moments later, most of the conversation became grunts and one word contributions. Tony and Sam spent a decent amount of time commenting on the horror that was Clint Barton eating buffalo wings and Clint continued to devour them in a way that turned his face (and the napkins Natasha had stuffed into the neck of his shirt) into a Jackson Pollock. 

Sam got a text from T’Challa, the guy he had been seeing since that first night they had all gone out together and smiled. Tony glanced over at the bar, watching the bartender throw a bottle of Jack over his shoulder and catch it on the other side and when his eyes came back to their own table, he caught Bucky’s frown and followed his eyes to see him watching Sam text. Bucky stood, he and Tony locking eyes. He gave him a tight-lipped smile and headed for the bar. It couldn’t be... wait. Was it _Sam_?

Tony wouldn’t say anything right now because to do so would make him a total and complete trash person and he was at the very most only eighty-percent trash person on his best days. Instead he turned to Steve and decided to try his hand at flirting. Bucky knew now, Clint and Natasha knew and if Bucky really was right, then Sam knew too so the only person left to let in on his little secret was the most important one of all. 

“Tony—”

“Hey—”

He and Steve started at the same time and chuckled somewhat awkwardly. Sam rolled his eyes at the two and informed the group that T’Challa was on his way over and he was going to go wait for him outside. Clint and Nat slid around to the far side of the bench to talk privately and be all couple-y. 

“How—” 

“I—” 

It happened again and Tony was already getting tired of it. “You first,” he said quickly before Steve could speak. Steve blushed. 

“I was just gonna ask how you’d been. You know, with... everything.” 

“Ah, yes, the whole thing where my father hates me because I am who I am and I’m also homeless? That everything?”

Steve smiled, blowing air out of his nose. “Yes, that’s exactly how I was going to phrase it if you’d just given me another second.” Tony grinned. 

“Well, believe it or not, it’s actually been pretty pleasant. My roommates aren’t total disasters—well, Natasha isn’t—the food is good, the heating works and the whole setup came with unforeseen benefits.” 

Steve cocked an eyebrow and Tony felt his heart skip a beat. This man was beautiful and Tony wasn’t sure why he had been denying himself the simple pleasure of acknowledging that to himself. Perhaps it had something to do with feeling like pursuing this was off-limits but if Bucky hadn’t discouraged him and neither had his housemates then he assumed it was free real estate. The side of Tony’s mouth quirked up, his eyebrows pulling together, to form an appreciative kind of look. Appreciating what? Well, Steve, to be precise. 

“And exactly what benefits?” Steve took another bite of his burger, wiping his mouth on his napkin. Tony stole a fry before answering. 

“Well, you,” he said, pausing longer than necessary before continuing on with his list of benefits, “and Bucky, and Sam. This whole system you guys have here that I can encroach on and you all just seem okay with that.” Steve was staring intensely at Tony, his expression conflicted which confused Tony but he figured perhaps he just needed more practice in reading Steve’s face. Maybe he wasn’t seeing conflict in Steve’s bright blue eyes or in the hard set of his jaw. Maybe it was… resolution? 

Steve dropped his gaze back to his food, glancing quickly over at Clint and Natasha who looked like they were in their own world but who he knew to be paying very close attention to him. Tony was slowly moving more and more into his space, their legs touching and then Tony let his hand fall casually onto Steve’s thigh as he continued to talk about the new situation he found himself in.

Steve was conflicted. Well, not entirely. He knew what was right and he knew that was the option he had to choose for both of their sakes but he so badly wanted to choose wrong. 

He wanted to pull Tony into his arms and hold him there and let this wonderful person know he was cared for and that Steve would do everything in his power to take down anyone else who got in the way of his happiness. He wanted to press soft kisses into Tony’s slightly curly brown hair and hold his hand like a couple of lovesick teenagers.  

 _Teenager_ . _Tony_ was a _teen_ _ager_.

He had to keep reminding himself of that because Tony did not look his age, did not speak his age and most certainly did not act his age. But that didn’t change the fact that he was sixteen years old and consent laws or not, Steve was twenty-one and right now, that difference felt like a hell of a lot more than five years. 

Tony’s hand slid further towards the inside of Steve’s thigh and he leaned in, into Steve’s space, and Steve panicked. 

He grabbed Tony’s hand, throwing it back into his own lap rather forcefully. Tony balked, blinking rapidly, his mouth going dry as strong emotions swept over him. Steve had yet to say anything so Tony wasn’t sure if it just wasn’t the right place, the right time or if Steve was disgusted by the very idea of Tony and himself together. Tony began backtracking. 

“I—Steve— _god_ , I don’t know what—I’m sorry. I’m gonna—” Steve grabbed him by the wrist, gently, and Tony hesitated. 

“No, Tony, wait. Hear me out.” Steve knew without even having to look that Clint and Natasha were watching him which only served to make it harder to find the right words. “It’s not—it’s not that I _don’t_ like you.” Tony’s heart soared. “It’s just… you’re so—” And then it plummeted. Onto concrete. And smashed into a million tiny pieces that left Tony hollow and angry.

“You know, don’t you?”

Steve licked his lips, staring Tony directly in the eye and not daring to look towards his left to the couple. “Yes. I—we—know, Tony.” 

Tony laughed mirthlessly. “No, you don’t. This is just some cruel plan of Clint’s I bet to try and figure it out.” 

“Tony, you’re sixteen, and I like you a lot but it’s not legal—”

“For us to _fuck_ , Rogers, but we haven’t even admitted to liking each other yet. Hell, you really are green when it comes to dating. Anyone ever tell you it’s a shitty tactic to start with ‘I like you but I don’t want to be with you’?” Tony was angry and it was only getting worse by the second. Clint and Natasha remained where they were, whispering to one another but not interfering. 

“Tony—”

Tony downed the rest of his drink and then laughed derisively. “So you have zero problem letting me pump myself full of hard liquor in my _infancy_ but dating, holy fuck, _that’s_ off-limits? How long have you known, huh? All of you?” Tony asked, turning his attention to Clint and Natasha who faced him. He shook his head, snatching his arm from Steve like he was something contagious. 

“A few weeks. Nat got your information from school records,” Clint answered.  

“Why the fu—you know what? I don’t give a shit. You don’t trust me, fine, the feeling’s fucking mutual, Barton. As for you, pretty boy,” he said, his furious gaze back on Steve, “ _fuck you_. And before you get your britches in a knot, don’t worry, this one’s perfectly legal.” He pushed up away from the table and stormed out, catching the attention of both Sam and Bucky who ran back over to their table, T’Challa in tow, and Bucky scowled at the back of the man’s head, only being seen by Natasha who knew. He didn’t know she knew but she did. She always did. 

“Where’s he going? What happened?” Sam asked, looking between the three at the booth. Steve was bright red and looked as if he had been slapped. Clint stared at the floor and Natasha seemed to be the only one capable of speech in that moment. 

“He knows we know.” 

“So? What’s the big deal?” Bucky asked. 

“Steve may or may not have just dumped him without ever having dated him,” Clint said angrily, glaring at Steve. Steve glared right back. 

“But Clint betrayed his trust.” 

Steve had a point, that one _was_ worse. 

 

Tony wandered the streets. It was late but there was something about the guy who seemed to have nothing to lose that discouraged muggers and worse. He couldn’t go to his house and he didn’t want to go back to the place he was almost ready to call home because suddenly, it felt very far away from what that word was supposed to mean. Instead, he entered a small corner shop and bought some essentials—toiletries, a t-shirt, a pack of underwear and a phone charger—and decided to stay at a motel for the night. He had his debit card and he knew there was enough money there from his mechanic job to work fine. If all else failed, he still had his credit card if his father hadn’t cancelled it. 

He curled up into a ball at the top of the bed and wrapped his arms around his knees, his chin resting on top of them. He stared down at his phone and contemplated calling. He knew he would be busy and most likely unable to take his call and in any case, he knew he sometimes got in trouble when Tony called but right then Tony wanted to be selfish for a change. He dialed the number and it rang four times before going to voicemail. He was just about to drop it and resign himself to crying the night away when it rang. 

“Hello,” he answered quickly, his voice coming out strangled. 

“Hey, Tones, what’s up?” 

“God, I miss you, Rhodey.” 

Over the next thirty minutes, Tony—after much convincing that Rhodey would not get in trouble for this phone call—explained his current predicament to him. He was homeless times two now, he’d made and lost friends, he’d started to like someone only to have them hurt him in a very avoidable way and now here he was with nowhere to go and no one to turn to and he wondered if he should just give up. Not give up in the way he was prepared to when Clint found him the first time—which he hadn’t told Rhodey about because honestly no one needed to know that had happened—but give up and just go start a new life somewhere else. He had the means, the brains and the know-how. He just needed the guts. 

“Tony,” Rhodey said in way only he could that made Tony feel simultaneously chided and comforted. “I’m not on their side. In fact, next time I come, I’m meeting and interrogating each and every one of them—especially Steve—but the digging and rejection aside, it sounds like they, in their own very fucked up way, want good for you. They should’ve just asked you about your age—”

“They did. I kept avoiding answering.” Rhodey laughed.

“Well, there ya go. That’s why they felt the need to snoop. Again, not justifying it. It’s still shitty behavior for a so-called ‘friend’.” He was quiet for a moment. “As for Steve—”

“I’m not totally ready to discuss him just yet. In forty years, you know, when you get a chance to call me again, maybe then I’ll be ready but—”

“Tony—”

“No, Rhodey, it’s okay. You’ve done a lot in the little time we’ve spoken. I feel better.” 

Both men were quiet now on the phone. The silent tears had stopped falling down Tony’s cheeks but his shaky exhale alerted Rhodey that he still wasn’t one hundred percent fine. He waited a beat, hoping Tony would address it himself and, when he didn’t, he spoke up. 

“Tones, listen. You’ve been dealt a rough hand, we both know that, but here’s a chance for you to start turning that around and making a better way for yourself. Granted, they’ve made some mistakes, but you also withheld a lot.” Tony knew he was right. Before he felt it was a protection—them being left in the dark—and now he felt like it was the key to his own undoing. “As for Steve—”

“Rhodey—”

“No, Tony, I’m talking now. You called me for advice, right?” Tony grumbled but let him continue. “As for Steve, the way he did it was completely and unmistakably idiotic but his intentions were good, Tones. They were. Give them time, give yourself time—but not too much—and then reach out or let yourself be reached. We both know you can be a particularly hard person to track down when you don’t want to be found.” Rhodey knew him so well. Tony could turn into a ghost when you were looking for him and he didn’t want to be sought out. Like with Clint. Clint had only seen him those few times that he did because Tony was too tired to go through everything required to stay out of sight. 

Tony opened his mouth and closed it a few times before finally answering. “Okay.”

“I need a true verbal confirmation here, Tony.”

“Yes, alright. A few days and then I’ll reach out.” 

“Okay, good, I gotta go, it’s almost time to get up.”

“Fuck, Rhodey, I’m sorry. Like the idiot I am I forgot about time zones. Shit, I hope you’re not too tired.”

Rhodey sighed. “You are an idiot, but not because of this. I’ll be fine. Take care of you, okay? I’m too far to do it properly. Gotta go now though. Love you, man.”

“Love you too, Rhodey,” Tony said without missing a beat and then the phone hung up. It made Tony beyond happy to always remember he had a friend out there who said ‘I love you’ when he hung up. 

  


A week went by with total radio silence from Tony. After the first three days, Natasha and Sam had advised Clint, Steve, and Bucky to leave him be. He either didn’t want to be contacted or would do it himself when— _if_ —he did. Clint was doing his best not to go out of his mind knowing what he did about Tony. He figured Tony was stronger than this—stronger than to let something like this set him so far back. He might still decide to get shit-faced and pass out but he didn’t think he’d find himself in another life-or-death situation of his own doing. 

On the eighth day, Tony found himself sitting in a small family-owned diner eating a plate of eggs and downing coffee like there was no tomorrow. The meal was enjoyable, the fact that no one knew him was even better. That is, until someone did. 

“You know,” Tony began, still eating his eggs. The person sat at the diner’s counter to his right turned to him suddenly but Tony never looked anywhere but straight ahead. “For a long time I figured you didn’t like me much, didn’t care. Then when you were the only one who didn’t call me like dialing my number would win you the powerball, I figured okay, theory confirmed. Now I’m confused. What’s your angle here?” 

The person to his right pointed a hesitant thumb at them self and said, “M-me?”

Tony turned to them finally, his expression the essence of ‘who the hell are you’ and said, “Fuck no, her,” and jerked his head towards the table behind him. Natasha joined Tony at the counter with the muffin she’d been picking at. He swung around to face her, looking her up and down. She had a small, unrevealing smile on her lips. 

“Hi, Tony,” she said casually as if she hadn’t tracked him down and was wholly intent on spying on him from a distance. 

“Natasha.” He sipped his coffee. “So, how about that angle?”

Her expression never faltered and Tony frowned at his inability to read her or predict what she would say next. “No angle. I was worried.”

Tony snorted. “Worried for you translates to stalking?”

“No,” she answered calmly, unbothered by his accusatory tone, “worried for me means seeing with my own eyes that you’re still in one piece. As if a call or text from me would’ve done any good at all.” Tony shrugged because touché. “Listen, let me apologize because I am the one who looked into you but not to dig up dirt or betray your trust but because I knew we’d never get your age out of you and with the way Steve was looking at you, I knew it was something we needed to know and fast. And perhaps you could have kept it under wraps but with who you are, had anyone found out, that would not have ended well for either of you.”

“And who exactly am I?” he asked, expecting some psychoanalysis of his character. 

“Tony Stark, son of weapons manufacturer and billionaire Howard Stark of Stark Industries, heir to the throne, I believe,” she answered, glancing up to see the reaction she expected: thinly concealed shock. 

“How do you—”

“I knew your name sounded familiar. I did that googling the first night Clint told it to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell the others?” He did not and probably would never understand how Natasha operated. She was simultaneously a lone wolf and leader of the pack. She relied on no one but wanted to surround herself with the others, especially Clint whom she loved in a way Tony one day hoped to love someone. Had Tony known Natasha first, he never would’ve seen how she’d ended up with Clint. Clint could be loud, annoying, slow to get the point, and lazy. Natasha was none of those things nor was she particularly fond of them but in Clint, they made her eyes light up. But Tony knew another side of Clint and with that side he completely understood the connection. 

Natasha ordered a green tea. “It’s none of their business. They can either google for themselves or you can tell them. What good and what difference will it make? The only thing we all needed to know was how young you are, Tony.” Her tone was edging away from the casual one she’d been using and heading in the direction of disciplinary. “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life—to stop drinking or swearing or whatever the hell else—but as much as you are my friend, Steve was my friend first and I will go to whatever lengths to protect him and hey, look at that, protect you, too, it seems.”

“I don—”

“I swear to god, Tony, I dare you to say ‘I don’t need protecting’. That BS might work on Clint but I’m not letting you off so easy.” Tony raised his hands in surrender, smiling. “Had I known threats of physical violence is what it would take to make you smile, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” 

Tony chuckled lightly, running a hand down over his face. “It’s just… you sound like a friend of mine.”

“Who? Don’t I know all of your friends?” she teased. 

“There’s one more I hope you get the chance to meet.” She nodded slowly, wondering who he meant. Clint probably knew. “So what do we do now?”

“It feels very stupid to waste breath saying your room is still waiting for you. Stupider still to say that _we_ are because these things are obvious. And, yes, Tony, I _do_ care about you.”

“I know,” he said quietly, giving her a brief but genuine smile. “You’re not too bad yourself when not threatening my life.” 

Natasha finished her tea and slipped a ten underneath the mug. She hopped down off the stool and placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing once. “You take all the time you need but at least text Clint if you’re done being mad at him.” 

“And Steve?” he asked. 

“You might want to do that one in person.”

  


“Tony,” Clint said, jumping up from the couch and going straight over to the tiny genius, pulling him in for a tight hug. Clint was a lot more invested in Tony than he let on. He was so worried and now, knowing he was okay—sure, Nat had told him he was but it was better to know for himself—he felt a wave of relief wash over him. 

Tony had half a mind to pull away from the hug petulantly but what good would that really do him? He wouldn’t feel better about prolonging Clint’s misery and he himself was enjoying the hug. Instead he did something Rhodey would be proud of: he hugged him back and allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Natasha asked Tony to just text Clint but no matter how upset he felt, he knew that wasn’t fair. If he owed Steve an in-person conversation he most definitely owed that to Clint and then some. Clint finally pulled away but kept his hands on Tony’s shoulders briefly before dropping them down again. 

“Tony, I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. I overreacted. I should’ve just told you in the beginning. I was just—”

“Afraid we’d treat you differently?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s ashamed look told Clint that he realized how far off he’d been with that idea. They had known for weeks Tony’s age and the only difference was Steve’s flirting. Nothing else had changed. Tony exhaled heavily. “You guys are the one good thing I’ve got going for me here. I was afraid of becoming the kid no one wants to hang out with.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's surprisingly wise for a guy who drinks coffee right out of the pot sometimes.

 

Two months had gone by, Tony was seventeen, he still wasn’t talking to Steve, and it was becoming somewhat of a bother when the group tried to do anything. They were all hanging out at the hub—Clint, Nat, and Tony’s apartment—playing board games and eating pizza. It was a good night for the most part, their first time all truly together since Tony had disappeared and come back. He’d gotten his chance to talk to each of them in turn—except, of course, for Steve—and they were on good terms. It wasn’t that he didn’t forgive Steve, he just didn’t know what to say to him or how to act around him. Steve liked him, he supposed, but wouldn’t be so much as touching him until he was of age or over? Tony wasn’t sure if Steve’s issue was that Tony was still under consent age or if he thought their age gap was too much and he didn’t want to ask for fear of either getting his hopes up or crushing them instantly. So he kept his distance and effortlessly managed to go about his life as though Steve wasn’t even there. 

“Tony, you’re up,” Clint said, handing him the monopoly dice. Tony rolled and landed on one of Steve’s properties. An uneasy tension gripped the group but Tony just counted his money and reached over to lay it neatly on the table in front of Steve. Tony handed the dice to Natasha and she rolled and the game continued. 

 

In the kitchen later—Sam, the victorious winner of monopoly after they had quit when it seemed Clint and Bucky were about to start a fist fight—Tony silently washed dishes. When the game had ended, Natasha announced she and Clint would make an alcohol run and were gone a few seconds later. Sam and Bucky were debating how realistic it was that Clint had managed to get so many hotels. It was the most civil conversation Tony had ever seen them have and they were laughing, enjoying one another’s company. 

Assuming Sam was the person Bucky had spent the last couple of months crushing on, it made Tony smile to see them having this moment. In all truthfulness, they would make a really cute couple. The constant bickering was actually beginning to grow on Tony and he could see the poorly concealed flirting in it. Even on Sam’s behalf. Especially since he and T’Challa had called it quits. 

Tony turned back to the dishes, drying the plate he was holding and putting it on the shelf, his smile still intact. He loved this little group. They were  _ his _ friends now.

Not just Clint’s,  _ his _ . 

His smile promptly faded as Steve came to join him at the sink, taking the dish towel he had laid down and waiting patiently to be handed something to dry. Tony tensed up, debating his moves here. He could go full douchebag and just walk away but that seemed a little extreme, even for him. Or he could go partial douchebag and continue washing, handing Steve items to dry in aggressive silence. He was really liking that one. Or he could go douchebag to the max and act like nothing was wrong at all, peppering in passive-aggression and sarcasm. Oh, yes, _that_ _one_. 

“Thanks for the help,” Tony said. Steve startled, fully expecting Tony to remain quiet. 

“Uh, sure. Of course.” Steve dried the mug he was given and put it away without adding anything else. It was after the fourth item—a fork—that he spoke up again. “So we’re not alright, are we?” 

“You figure that one out all by yourself or did you ask Natasha for help?” He kept his voice light, casual, which was very confusing when paired with the things he said. Steve’s hand faltered and he almost dropped the fork but he was determined to fix this. Even if he had lost all hope of a relationship with Tony, he was going to have a friendship with him. Whatever it took. 

“Little bit of both,” he responded, attempting to match the tone Tony had set. Tony narrowed his eyes, resenting that Steve wasn’t more offended. While Steve knew his chances were slim, he at least wanted to know for sure. “I am sorry. I  _ never _ meant to hurt you, Tony. Hell, I didn’t even realize you liked me like that.” 

“What do you mean ‘ _ like that’ _ ?” He snapped, just barely managing to avoid glancing over at the man. At that beautiful, beautiful man who no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get out of his mind. Whose voice alone was enough to make Tony’s breathing quicken and his palms sweat. It made him so angry that he had this reaction to Steve seemingly against his will. 

“I just… most people who have… expressed interest in me in the last few years have only been interested in the physical aspect of me. Not for me. At first I thought that was all you wanted too.” 

Tony attempted to snort to keep himself from giving away how he was really feeling. It came out shaky and half-hearted. “What makes you so sure my intentions  _ were _ any different, Rogers?” 

“You did.” Tony stopped moving entirely and waited. “When we danced, you didn’t just grind on me and then disappear when I wanted to sit and talk. Then when we did talk, you listened, asked questions. You were interested in the person behind the face.” He stopped talking and Tony turned to him, just as he hoped he would. “And then,” he continued, moving into Tony’s space slowly. “You joked with me. You flirted but you never chased.”

Steve was standing right in front of Tony now. Tony could feel the exhale he let out brush against his face, warm and inviting. Tony tilted his head up, staring up at him defiantly, willing him to say more. Sam and Bucky had since gone quiet, watching the interchange though Steve kept his voice low enough that not much of the conversation carried. Tony’s side of it was practically being broadcasted. 

“And?” Tony demanded, gritting his teeth, his jaw set. 

“And—”

“Kids, we’re home,” Clint called. 

“And we got booze because we’re model parents,” Natasha added, laughing. Clint’s arm was slung around her shoulder and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Oh, so you guys sampled the product on the way back,” Sam said, giving Bucky a look. 

Tony sighed, rolling his lips together. “Well, Steve, too little, too late.” He patted his chest with a dismissive  _ pat pat _ and walked over to join the others. Steve exhaled angrily but refused to lose his temper. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor. He was so close and next time, he would do better. 

 

“Hey, sport,” Clint said jokingly, still quite drunk. He poked his head into Tony’s room. Tony was sitting on his bed, staring at his hands and jerked to attention. “You having a private moment? Mind if I join?” Tony looked over at him but didn’t say anything. Clint took that as a no and came in, closing the door behind him. It was later that evening. Sam, Steve, and Bucky had gone home. 

Clint sat down on Tony’s bed beside him and bumped his shoulder playfully. “How you holding up?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Tony snapped. “Are you on some kind of timer rotation?” Clint waited, ignoring his outburst. He knew more was coming. “I feel unwanted,” Tony blurted suddenly. And there it was. “And it's making me sick. My dad, Steve, eventually all of you guys—”

"Not me. And also not Nat—Nat loves you. Bucky thinks you're awesome and so does Sam, they told me. And Steve thinks you’re amazing too, it’s just that there are laws to how much he could show that.” 

"I don’t think any laws can dictate feelings, Clint."

"Be that as it may, I know you know what I mean. And I can't speak for your father but even if he never comes around, you've got us."

 Tony scoffed. "This is such a waste of time. My problems aren't even real problems. I mean you said Natasha was abandoned as a child, your brother killed himself, Bucky was being abused in his foster homes, and Sam's best friend was shot right in front of him. Steve’s a fucking orphan and here I am complaining that 'daddy doesn't love me, wah wah wah," Tony said with a humorless laugh.

Clint grabbed both of Tony's arms firmly, looking him intently in the eyes.

"Everyone handles problems differently. A thirty second problem for me could be a thirty day one for you, alright? And something that seems simple enough to handle for you might take me years. There is no magnitude scale for problems or even expiration dates for when we should get over them. If something is a problem for you then it is a problem for you and you are allowed to view it as such for as long as you need, regardless of what other people feel or say. Do you understand me?" Tony had only seen Clint get this heated a few times and each time the intensity of his words and gaze had never failed to drill the message into Tony's core.

Clint squeezed a little tighter but it didn't feel violent or threatening so much as grounding. "Do you?" Tony nodded stiffly. "Good. No one can make you feel inferior without your permission."

"Did you just misquote Eleanor Roosevelt at me?"

"Actually it was Princess Diaries and I'm not even a little bit sorry.”They laughed but then Clint found he had more to say while he had Tony’s undivided attention. “You know,” he began, his voice more somber than Tony often heard it, “the guys don’t just call me Hawkeye because I’m a whiz at darts. It’s also because I observe, I notice things most people miss.” 

“What exactly have you caught,  _ hawkeye _ ?” 

Clint took in a deep breath. “You like Steve. Yes,  _ like _ . As in present tense. Ongoing. But he hurt you. Now I know the men in your life—present company included—have a nasty habit of hurting you, with the exception of your military buddy but then again, he’s thousands of miles away and virtually unreachable. 

I’ve seen the way you look at Steve when you think no one—especially Steve—is watching but I also know you’re afraid.” He eyed Tony, waiting for an objection but none came. 

“Now you see, the thing with liking someone, loving them, is that you have to and I mean you  _ gotta _ let ‘em in. You have to let that person see you. And that means they are now armed with a deadly arsenal they could use to hurt you. But they won’t. Admittedly, it still happens. Sometimes on purpose out of anger, more often than not on accident and you just have to gently remind them that that’s a no-go for you. But most of the time, you can rest easy despite what they know because you trust them. That doesn’t come easy either. Hell, ask Natasha some time how long it took us to get where we are. Or even just how long it took for her to stop giving me fake addresses. Or for me to tell her my real name.” Tony’s eyebrows shot up at that. He never would’ve expected it. Not with how close they were; how when they were together they moved like they were made only for one another. A rhythm Tony now realized had not come without hard work. 

“So Tony, what I wanna know isn’t if you’ll trust Steve right now ‘cause I know he hurt you. He definitely could’ve done what he did differently,  _ better _ , and gotten a better result. I’m don’t wanna know if you can trust him  _ tomorrow _ . What I wanna know is, do you think you could ever get past the hurt and  _ consider _ trusting him? And not just that, but could the trust could outweigh the fear of him hurting you? If so, great, I’m off to bed and you should probably talk to him sooner or later. If not, I’ll call him and tell him to drop it right now.” 

Tony stared at Clint a long time. Mostly debating his response but also in amazement. Clint didn’t often speak that much nor get so serious. Usually even in Tony’s most dire of moments, Clint was there with sage advice followed quickly by a joke but there was no joke here, no witty remark, not even a smile. This was a large part of that side of Clint that he knew Natasha bonded with, loved. 

“I…” He was still unsure. Could he trust Steve? In hindsight, he knew what he’d done wasn’t actually  _ that _ bad. He was more channeling his rejection into anger. He wasn’t mad anymore because Steve had phrased it how he did, he was mad because he felt he’d ruined his chances himself. He was mad at himself but projecting it onto Steve and he’d known that a while. By the look of Clint’s face as Tony worked through all of this in his head, he’d known longer than Tony had. “I’m not sure. But I’d like to try.” 

Clint smiled, wide and sincere. He reached out an arm and waited for Tony to lean into the embrace. 

“I’m happy to hear it. Now goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Clint. And thanks.” 

“My pleasure, man.”

 

Tony stayed up most of that night thinking about what he would say to Steve the next time he saw him. He wondered if he hadn’t completely destroyed his chance with the man after tonight though. It was Steve who did the original stupid thing but it was Tony holding a pointless grudge. Steve was trying to apologize and Tony cut him off like he did every time he had tried before and yet he kept on. 

Tony could only hope that Steve would try at least one more time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a short chapter guys! hope you enjoy and thanks again for all your kudos and comments, appreciate it so much


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard still sucks (are we surprised tho?) and Clint Barton continues to be one of the most precious, supportive people with just the right amount of comedic relief.

Almost three months in total passed before Tony ever heard anything from his parents. While he got the occasional call from Jarvis who would also bring him clothes and other little things he might need, apart from that, total radio silence from the Starks.

The others had since worked up the courage to ask Tony why he was a sixteen-year-old sophomore in college studying engineering and he had somewhat reluctantly explained the whole genius situation to everyone. But the shock passed and Tony was happy his new friends didn't dwell on his father’s immense wealth or Tony's insanely high IQ, they were awed in the moment and then Tony went back to being Tony for them.

He was sat on the couch shoulder to shoulder with Clint, watching him play Tile Tap on his phone with the same amount of intrigue that someone might watch a rocket launch.

"You're breathing on my shoulder," Clint complained, never missing a single tile.

"I'm keeping you warm, now play on." Clint huffed but played until Tony was sure his thumbs must have been tired. "I suppose there's no point in calling next game, huh?" Clint chuckled, swearing when Tony's phone dinged and the game paused.

It was a message from his father. It read: 'call me Tony.'

Tony's heart raced and Clint felt the difference in the breath being blown into his shoulder. He reached around and put an arm over Tony's shoulders, hugging him.

"Hey, you’re alright."

"Yeah now but if I call him and-and I don't know, Clint. He just has a good way of fuckin’ with me, you know?"

"I know. I can be right there with you when you call him. _If_ ," he added comfortingly.

Tony took a deep breath and said quietly, "A Stark should never be kept waiting." It was acidic shit like that that made Clint hate Howard. Of course the physical abuse contributed to it but nothing did more damage to Tony it seemed than words. "Okay. I'm going to put it on speaker."

The phone rang three incredibly long times before Tony heard the familiar harsh and commanding voice.

"Tony, where are you?"

"You kicked me out, remember?

"I know and that was the wrong thing to do." Tony's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and Clint watched his face to gauge further reactions.

"Why did you want me to call you?"

"Because we want you to come home of course." Tony didn't know what to say but Howard was quickly filling the silence anyway. "Where have you been anyway?"

"I stayed with some friends from school."

"Friends. Right. Well thank them for us." Tony turned to Clint and signed 'yeah right'—Clint had been teaching him and Tony was only too eager to learn, especially if it made things easier on Clint.

"Sure, will do." Tony's hands were sweating and he kept drying them on his jeans until Clint tapped his shoulder and signed 'I come too'. "Dad one of my friends is gonna walk me home, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure that's... fine. Bye." He hung up.

"Oh my god, thank you."

"Yeah, of course,” Clint told him.

 

This was Clint's first time at Tony's house. Scratch that, at Tony's manor. That wasn't even necessarily a word Clint had in his vocabulary, it said it beside the door.

"Stark _manor_ , huh?"

"Shut up."

A man rounded the corner and Clint tensed until he noticed Tony's utter calm and... happiness? Was that a smile he saw? Clint had cracked no less than eleven jokes on the way over in an attempt to relax Tony for what lay ahead and every single one had fallen flat. All this man had to do was show up and suddenly Tony had a grin from ear to ear.

"Master Tony." Oh, that made sense; this was Jarvis. "What a pleasure to see you again." Tony hugged him briefly and the Englishman returned the gesture.

"Good to see you too, J." He turned to Clint, his face animated and happy and Clint loved it. "This is Clint Barton. He's a pain but mostly not too bad," Tony teased with a smirk.

"Nice to finally put a face to the voice. You've kind of been like a voice built into Tony's phone these last months," Clint said and suddenly felt like it might have been a socially awkward thing to say but hey ho, one interaction at a time was how Clint got through life.

"Likewise. I think," he said and Tony pushed against Clint's shoulder mockingly.

"Where's dad, J?"

"Your father is in his office. He told me to bring you once you've dropped your... things? Master Tony, where are your things?"

"You know what they say, J: if you're pessimistic you're either right or pleasantly surprised." Jarvis didn't say anything else, just nodded his head patiently and led the way.

"Mister Barton, I think it might be best for you to wait in Master Tony's room," Jarvis said, a little strained like he knew what was about to happen.

"Tony, there you are," Howard said, coming out of his office in formal attire despite being in his home. He looked both his son and friend up and down. "And _you_ are?" He asked it as if Clint were some disgusting animal Tony had accidentally let in and it made Tony want to spit.

"Clint Barton."

"You go to my son's school?"

"I do."

"And you're friends?"

"The best." Tony warmed at that.

"Tony, I'll talk to you privately now." Howard reached out to grab his son’s shoulder but Clint put himself between them and matched gazes with Howard. They were the same height but Clint was stronger and probably just as angry.

"I don't think that's the best idea. Last time Tony came away with bruises," Clint stated matter-of-factly. Tony looked at Jarvis like he was expecting that reaction, which was probably why he told Clint to wait in Tony's room. Clint was prepared to fight Howard if need be. If he so much as looked at Tony wrong, Clint was going to knock the man on his ass.

Howard laughed. "You're certainly all grown up. Don't worry, I'll keep my hands to myself." He moved Clint aside and reached again for Tony.

Inside Howard shut the door and leaned against his desk. He motioned for Tony to take one of the seats in front of him and he did, although tentatively.

"Your mother and I have discussed it and if you're done with all this then we're ready for you to come back."

"Done with all what?"

"All these... _things_ you've been into lately."

"What? Having friends?"

"Good that you mention them Tony because I don't want you spending anymore time with them. I was blind not to see that they're the ones corrupting you with these modern ideas."

"What? Modern ideas? Stop being cryptic and just say what you mean."

"I did. Your friends are necessary ties to severe. They're not the kind of people you want in your circle."

"You don't know the first thing about any of them."

"Them? How many are there," he said laughing, making Tony’s blood boil.

"More than you have," he spat. "And they're not going anywhere."

"Listen, you've had your fun. We all experiment but it's time to come home. It's been, what, a couple weeks?"

"Three months."

"Yeah, three weeks," he continued talking, picking up his phone and typing at the same time and Tony could hear emails being sent. "I've let this gay thing run its course and it's time to come back to reality and focus on your studies. Sooner you're done, sooner—”

"Gay thing? It's not a _thing_ and I'm not gay—”

"That's what I sai—”

"I'm bisexual. Men _and_ women. Both. I like both. I've even slept with a guy, dad. How's that sound? I'm dating one right now. Might even be in love with him." Almost all of that was a lie. Tony was still a virgin on all accounts and he definitely wasn't dating anyone right now but he might be a tiny bit in love with Steve.

"Don't be disgusting, Tony." He actually looked up from his phone to look Tony in the eye while saying that. What a wonderful moment he chose for direct eye contact.

"I'm not being disgusting. I'm being _me_. I'm being the person I am not who you want me to be. And that person has friends and a safe place. And my friends accept me just as I am.”

Howard put down his phone completely, calmly. "I made an appointment for you and a therapist tomorrow afternoon. I expect you to be—”

"I wanna move out."

"What? Tony, you're fifteen."

" _Seventeen_ and in college and you're never home anyway. What difference does it make?"

"And where exactly do you plan to go at seventeen and unemployed?" Tony gritted his teeth. He'd mentioned countless times his job at Carelli's over dinner and apparently not once had Howard heard him say it. Or he had and didn’t care enough or respect it enough to remember.

"I’ve been staying at Clint's. He and his girlfriend—”

"Clint's not a homo?"

"No. He’s not but that’s not what’s important here." Tony closed his eyes because he wasn't prepared to argue today. "I can legally move out or I can move out without your permission and you can explain to the press when I take this to court why your child doesn't want to live with you anymore and by the time all the hearings are over, I'll be old enough to move myself out anyway," Tony said, leaning forward, his face serious and suddenly so old he honestly could have passed for older than Steve.

"Blackmail. Now you're thinking like a Stark." Tony regretted his actions as soon as Howard spoke but he didn't let his resolve waver. "Fine. Move out. But you're still going to school and the second you finish, you're coming to the company."

Tony could live with those terms. His job might've been decided for him but honestly he was good at it and would be much better than Howard. At least his life was his.

 

Tony found Clint in his room exploring all the shelves and spaces he could find. Tony leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat.

"Found anything fun?" Clint jumped back, his cheeks coloring.

"Found a cool-looking felt pen, definitely keeping that." Tony smiled. "How'd it go?"

"He said if I was finished with this 'gay thing' that I could come home."

"You're screwing with me. He really said that?" Tony nodded curtly and laughed.

"And you said?"

"I blackmailed him into letting me move out."

"That's great. Tony, that's great, right?"

"Yeah." Okay, Clint thought, Tony's bummed and it’s either about his father still not accepting him (very likely) or it's about moving out (very likely!).

"So what's up?"

"Kind of hoped he might put up more of a fight. I knew he would never accept my sexuality so that was a loss to begin with. But it's whatever I guess. A win is a win."

"Okay, so then what else is bothering you?"

"Finding an apartment." Clint laughed, waiting for Tony to smile.

"What, you're not joking?"

"Why would I be? I just told him I was moving out! Stark men follow up," he said as if he didn’t notice the toxic rhetoric he spewed sometimes and there was a gnawing in Clint's stomach at just how unconsciously the words left his mouth.

"Tony, you have a place to stay. Just start helping out with rent and chores—oh wait, you already were, bonehead." When Tony opened his mouth to argue Clint raised a single finger. "Don't even try to fight me on this. I mean it. You're moving in for good with us. Natasha and I have been talking about it and she's fine with it too. Honestly we wanted another roommate and it’s either you or a cat and cats are just not my thing."

"I love cats," Tony said smiling.

"Ah, let's go roomie," Clint said, not wanting to get back on the cat debate topic. He threw his arm around Tony's shoulders and lead them out. "I really am taking this pen."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's seventeen.

He was seventeen. Tony was seventeen. Had been for some time but Steve had left him alone since the last time they had spoken. Since Tony had cut him off and walked away like he didn’t even want an explanation when he knew he did. 

In some ways, Tony was happier than he could ever remember being. He lived with his favorite people and rarely ever spent lunch alone. He got texts on the regular of random crap and he loved their group chat more than life itself. Between Sam and James' constant bickering and Steve accidentally sending them recipes he wanted to try out, it was a guarantee to make his day every time.

"So you're seventeen," Clint said, pouring them both coffee. It was Monday morning and honestly Tony was surprised to hear Clint forming actual words this early in the morning. 

He narrowed his eyes, taking the cup and holding it in both hands, inhaling that heavenly scent. "So you're nearing twenty-two."

"Smartass," Clint said. "You know what I mean."

"Tony, are you going to ask Steve out or not? Clint and I have money on this."

"You're betting on my love life?"

“Basically.” “Of course.” 

Tony sipped his coffee and then said, "What’s the bet?"

"There's three. One on—" Natasha clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Don't. It might influence the turn out. I'm not letting Wilson and Barnes get that jackpot."

"Seriously? Them too?"

 

It was later that day that Tony spotted Steve on at a picnic table on campus. He was sitting, a sketchbook in front of him, drawing what he saw—students having picnics, playing games, laughing and chatting, studying—and Tony realized he hadn't even seen any of Steve’s work until now. 

He took a seat across from Steve and he startled, his pencil flying out of his hand. “Sorry,” Tony said sheepishly. “Hey, let’s talk.”

“Talk about what?” He was nervous. He could never tell what Tony was thinking or feeling towards him. He wasn’t sure if he was about to get another earful or if they would come out of this with some kind of truce. He desperately hoped for the latter if nothing else. 

“Or rather,” Tony clarified, “continue what you were saying the other night before someone who walks, talks and looks like me so rudely interrupted you.” He gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m all ears.” 

Steve swallowed and thought back to the whole speech he had prepared, waiting for the perfect opportunity to give it to Tony just to be cut off midway through. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be bitter because he was getting a second chance. He just hoped the words would come out now as well as he had rehearsed them then. 

“Tony, I like you. A lot. And I have reason to believe you like me back.” Tony watched him, neither confirming nor denying anything Steve said. “But I wanted to do this right.” 

“Meaning, you weren’t gonna so much as hold my hand until I was seventeen, correct?” Steve nodded reluctantly. “Explain.” 

“I know the only thing illegal about it would have been if we had had sex but, Tony—”

“You just didn’t feel right.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. Tony knew—not from personal experience, of course, but he had read books and watched tv—that a healthy relationship meant all parties involved were comfortable with how things worked and were. 

“Well, yeah. Yeah.” 

“So now what? Friends?” 

“Friends?” Steve laughed but it was disappointed. “That’s it?” 

Tony blushed, not expecting that. “What do you want?” 

“I wanna kiss you, if I’m being perfectly honest.” 

Tony’s blush deepened, the butterflies in his stomach threatening to take over completely. He wanted to kiss Steve too, oh, how he wanted to kiss him, but first, he needed all the important stuff out of the way. “The age difference. It doesn’t… it doesn’t bother you?” 

“Well, you’re seventeen now.” Steve was confused. 

“No, I mean the fact that you’re five years older. That you’ll _always_ _be_ five years older.” 

“Oh,” he laughed. “No, not really. As long as it doesn’t bother you.When you’re twenty-one and I’m twenty-six, it won’t even register.” 

Tony grinned up at him, apparently Steve was planning ahead. “You still want that kiss?” Steve moved quickly, as though afraid Tony might change his mind, going around to Tony's side of the table and cupping his face, kissing him. It started chaste and then Steve moved his lips slowly against Tony’s. Tony pulled away a second after Steve’s tongue slipped into his mouth, clearing his throat. “We might have to take this somewhere a little more private.” 

“That was just a little bit quick,” Steve laughed. 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen what you look like?” Steve blushed. “And besides, I’ve been patient for  _ months _ .” 

“Good point,” Steve said, but he dropped his gaze while Tony gathered his things, fully intent on going back to his apartment since he knew Clint and Nat were out. When Tony looked up and caught sight of Steve’s face, he paused. 

“What is it?”

Steve chewed his lip. “I… I wanna do this right. Take you for dinner first, talk, laugh, the whole shebang. You know… I wanna woo you,” he explained slowly, shyly, his lips pulling into a smile. 

Tony raised an eyebrow that nearly touched his hairline. “Steve.  _ Steve _ , you did not just say ‘woo.’” 

Steve blushed, licking his lips. “Come on. Whaddya say? Let’s end the date in bed,” he told him, reaching out to take Tony’s hand. Tony felt more butterflies at just that little bit of contact. Obviously, he had some strong feelings for this guy so what would it hurt to go to dinner first?

“Okay. But soon. Like tonight. Or now even.” 

“Now? I mean it’s technically evening, we can—” 

“Let’s  _ go _ .” 

  
  


Clint burst into the guys’ apartment to find Nat, Bucky, and Sam watching tv and playing cards a couple hours later.

"No one wins."

"What?" Bucky asked.

"No one wins. Tony approached Steve, Steve kissed first, and no, Sam, Tony did not insult Steve. We were wrong on all accounts.” 

"This is a load of bull," Sam said.

Natasha sighed. "Tell me about it, I was going to buy some lipstick with that money."

"I thought we were sharing it?" Clint asked.

"We were. Don't we share my lips?"

"True, good point.” 

“Wait,” Bucky said, putting his cards in his pocket because it was no secret that Sam and Natasha were cheats, “how do you know all of this?” 

Clint blushed. “Well, when I got home, they were home too and let’s just say I’m now a lot more familiar with Steve than I would like to be.” Bucky was laughing. 

“That was fast,” Natasha said. 

“If I’d been pining after someone as hot as either of them I’d move fast too,” Sam said and Bucky's eyes slid to him. Natasha watched it happen but didn’t comment.  

 

Steve was snuggled up beside Tony, his nose pressed against Tony’s chest and he was snoring slightly because of it but it didn’t matter. Tony had no intention of sleeping anytime soon, there was too much to take in right at that moment. 

He and Steve had spent the entire rest of the afternoon and evening together, only interrupted briefly by Clint who came home first instead of going to Steve’s place like he was supposed to for game night. Steve and Tony had no intention of going, they were enjoying having the apartment to themselves. 

Tony reached over, running his fingers through Steve’s soft blond hair. It was so much softer than he had expected. He pushed it away from his forehead and then dipped his head to press a kiss to it. 

“Listen,” he began quietly, “I really like you and that’s new for me. I’ll probably fuck up a lot, especially in the beginning but I’ll never  _ try _ to hurt you.” Tony had seen Steve take naps, he knew he slept like the dead so he was safe to say what he wanted without the added pressure of Steve being awake to react and process. “You’re about to be my first ever boyfriend. Congrats,” he said. “I’m glad you get that title.” 

Tony yawned and moved down a little to make himself more comfortable. Steve smacked his lips and repositioned himself but never woke. Tony smiled, so head over heels for this big guy. 

He ran his hands along Steve’s warm, bare back and then up his neck and into his hair. He did it a few times and Steve threw an arm across Tony’s waist in his sleep and held him tight. Tony’s smile felt permanent and he was alright with that idea. 

 

When they finally woke up the next morning, the apartment still seemed empty. Tony assumed Clint and Nat had spent the night with the guys and taken Steve’s bed. He got up to use the bathroom and when he came back, Steve was sitting up rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“Good morning,” Tony said, crawling onto the bed and coming to sit beside Steve, his legs folded under him. Steve peeked out one eye and grinned. 

“Good morning indeed.” Steve’s hair was sticking up in every direction and his blue eyes were absolutely shining. Tony couldn’t help himself, leaning in to grab and kiss him. “It’s getting even better,” Steve laughed, as Tony pressed kisses to his neck. 

“I’ve never slept so well in my life,” Tony told him, just hugging him now. Steve hugged back and slowly Tony unfolded his legs and ended up in Steve’s arms and lap. Steve pressed a kiss into his hair. 

“Tony—”

“Hey, we’re back. Everybody got all their private parts covered? I’m literally just talking to you, Steve,” Clint called. Steve went a deep red color. 

“Yes,” he called back, pulling the blanket up higher. 

Clint and Natasha stood in the doorway looking in. 

“This looks like fun. So, spill. I want all the details,” Clint said, Natasha nodding and waiting patiently. 

“Details of… what exactly?” Steve was going even redder. 

“Oh god, Rogers, not of this,” she said, pointing between them. “Of how you got together. I wanna hear it firsthand.” 

“Can we maybe schedule this for later? Like in seven hours? Or next week?” Tony asked, looking between his two roommates. “I mean, nothing personal but, uh, there’s a really hot guy in my bed and, well, you know the rest.” Steve’s face was burning and Natasha just smirked. Clint chuckled, standing and heading towards the door, taking Nat with him. She leaned into the room before leaving, holding onto the doorframe. 

“I’ll take Clint for pancakes—” 

“Pancakes?” he asked excitedly. 

“—but I wanna hear the story later. Clint doesn’t tell it right.” Tony nodded and Nat winked at him, shutting the door. 

“So, you were saying my name in my favorite way right before they entered,” Tony said, turning back to Steve. 

“What’s your favorite way? So I know how to do it.” 

“Oh, just whenever you say my name is my favorite way. Although, I’m pretty sure I can think of which way will be my  _ double _ favorite,” he said, going back to kissing Steve’s neck. 

 

An hour later, Tony was laying facedown on the bed panting into his pillow. Steve was beside him, propped up on one elbow, tracing patterns on his back with a finger. He looked at his Tony there with a soft smile. 

Tony rolled and Steve continued the patterns but now on his bicep. Tony laughed. 

“You know, for a while there, I thought you were going to be this super innocent soul and now I’m not even sure I could get up if I wanted to,” Tony told him. Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? And what made you think I was innocent?”

“You know,” he said, lifting a hand and gesturing to Steve’s face. “You’ve got this boy-scout way about you with your blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Plus Bucky kind of made it seem like you were romantically incompetent.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Yep, sounds about right,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Bucky’s got a way with words alright.” 

“Oh, that much I noticed. Hey, quick question, Bucky and Sam…” Tony trailed off, worried about betraying him like that. Until Steve spoke. 

“Bucky’s liked Sam forever but doesn’t do anything about it. Sam is oblivious. It’s driving me and Nat nuts.” 

“We should do something about that,” Tony said. “The three of us.”

“Yes, we should.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks to everyone who's stuck around from the beginning to the end. Sorry for the huuuuge break between chapters 8 and 9. You can all blame Pysch 101. Anyhoo, this is the last chapter of Slowly But Surely BUT it's s series, so if you liked this particular au!gang, prepare for more!


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